Love's Wound
by bethely
Summary: Sometimes, the case isn't that obvious. Sometimes, a gun won't help you. Faced with an unsub who kidnaps men and women who work together, creating his own 'couples', Penelope Garcia and Luke Alvez make a mistake which might prove fatal. What will Luke and Penelope have to do, to stay alive? And how will it affect the feelings they already have for each other?
1. Chapter 1

_These violent delights have violent ends_

 _And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,_

 _Which as they kiss consume. William Shakespeare._

* * *

 **\- 1 -**

* * *

This was a horrible case. No, that wasn't right, Penelope thought. It was a disgusting case. Gross? Was it gross? The unsub, whoever he was, didn't do the usual stuff which made her want to spend a month hugging her Star Wars Funko Pops while rocking in a corner, but still. What he did was horrible enough.

"So, my lovelies," she started, before she remembered that Luke was at the table now, and was it appropriate to call him her lovely? Had it always been wrong? Was she wrong? Had she been sexually harassing her team the whole time?

"Garcia . . . " Emily's gentle voice brought her back to the room, and she felt her face grow warm.

"Sorry, guys. This one's . . . nasty." Penelope saw Rossi raise his eyebrows.

Sure, she knew that it didn't have the blood and guts they were all used to, but in this case, the unsub was destroying more than their bodies. He was wiping out their families' memories of them, in a way which she found even more repugnant. Or maybe she was just being naïve.

Penelope sighed, and put the pictures of the victims on the screen. On top, six smiling faces, with no pictures as couples. Underneath – three couples, all dead.

"Three men, three women – notice I didn't say three couples – at first thought to have committed suicide, complete with notes, 'because we can't be together . . . yada yada . . ." She sighed again. "Each so-called couple worked at the same company, in the same department or office."

"Are you saying that they weren't suicides? How can we know that?" JJ was being sceptical; not like her, Penelope thought.

"My first clue was the last case; Roanoke, Virginia. Big tech company, two of the I.T. staff disappear for a few days, and are found dead, with a suicide note for the both of them. Except – he was gay, and closeted at work. She was happily married, two months pregnant after trying for a baby with her husband for the last five years."

"Ah." Rossi seemed convinced, at least.

"The cops still didn't believe the families, said they were just trying to justify their affair, trying to salvage their reputations. But one of the detectives didn't completely buy the suicide story, and flagged it. I did some checking, and found another two quote-unquote couples; when I checked the medical examiner's notes, I found signs of restraint on one of the men, and bruising on one of the women."

"Hmm." Reid sounded sceptical, now. "But these cases still weren't flagged."

Penelope narrowed her eyes, resisting the impulse to glare at her team. This was not going the way she'd visualised it.

"No, because apparently, when cops see ligature marks they think 'kinky sex'. Bruises mean rough sex," Penelope said, trying to keep the sharp tone out of her voice. "And you know how the police hate the weird ones – they were just happy to get rid of the open cases and call them suicide."

"Garcia?" Prentiss had been scrolling through the reports on her tablet. "Was there any forensic evidence suggesting sexual assault?"

"Therein lies the rub," Penelope answered, "as the immortal Bard tells us. Or at least, I think he does. The only DNA recovered was each other's. Which is why the police bought the affair story so easily."

She pointed to each picture in turn. "Orlando. Atlanta. Roanoke."

"He's moving North," Rossi said, deep in thought. "But these people are from different cities. And it's too organised to be a drifter – he's keeping them for a few days."

Prentiss was chewing her lip, and she gave Penelope a worried look. "If there is an unsub," she said.

Penelope immediately opened her mouth to protest, but Prentiss waved her off.

"I'm not saying there's nothing here. I just need more. What did these people even have in common? They all work in different areas."

"I'm glad you asked," Penelope answered, trying hard not to sound smug. "All of them have come to a conference in Washington D.C. in the last six months."

A few people around the table seemed to want to interrupt, but Penelope rushed on. "I know that seems to confirm the affair theory, but listen – there are plenty of conferences all over the country. All three conferences were based _here,_ and now, six people are dead."

"Cause of death?"

"Different each time. Sometimes gunshot wounds, slashed wrists, hanging . . ." Penelope played with the scrunchie around her wrist, nervously. This was one of the weak points of her theory. All their wounds could have been self-inflicted, but they could have been staged like that, too.

Reid shrugged. "That's really incidental. New studies into serial killers have been made, showing that signature murder techniques are used in about 65% of known serial killings. What with the popularity of forensic techniques on tv shows, and . . ."

Penelope stopped listening when she realized that Reid was going to keep talking for another five minutes, at least. She loved the kid like a brother, but once he started, nothing short of a nuke would stop him. She took the opportunity to check one of the searches she'd started, comparing the victims' social media presence, checking if she'd missed something.

Prentiss was tapping her lip, and seemed to come to a decision. "Fine. Fine! Rossi and I will take the jet to Florida, Tara, and Reid can check out Roanoke. If anything, we need to exhume the previous victims – see if there's something the first autopsies missed."

Alvez looked puzzled. "And me?"

"You and JJ can check out the conferences here. Hotels, organisers, etc." JJ nodded, and Penelope strode to her lab, feeling great.

She hadn't expected it to go so smoothly, but she was sure she was right. Even though that meant the 'couples' had been held against their will for days, forced to do God knows what to each other. She shuddered. Whoever this guy was, he needed to be stopped. Though, wait a minute – there was something missing.

"Isn't anyone going to say 'wheels up in twenty'? Guys?"

A few hours later, Penelope stretched back in her chair, trying to work out the kinks in her back. Even though she felt like she needed a deep-tissue massage, she was deeply satisfied. The conferences had all been set up by the same company of event organizers. She'd even found some names on their website – it was disappointing that each conference had been organized by someone different. Still, it was worth looking into.

She walked quickly into the bullpen, tapping on her phone at the same time, talking rapidly. "So, I've sent the names and addresses to your phones, so you and JJ can check out the event organisers . . ."

Penelope trailed off as she looked up and realised that Luke was the only one in the bullpen, and he was talking to Prentiss using his tablet.

"Where is everyone?" Penelope looked around her – the place was empty; was it some kind of holiday? Whatever – focus on the case, Garcia, she told herself sternly.

"I was just telling Prentiss – JJ had to go home; Henry's in the hospital, they think it's his appendix." Luke sounded apologetic – he knew how much she loved Henry.

"Oh my God!" Penelope covered her mouth, and Luke rushed to reassure her.

"JJ just sent me a text – he's going to be ok. They're just keeping him overnight, to see if they have to operate."

She could see Prentiss on his tablet screen, looking at her phone, and nodding.

"I can go and check out those event organisers, Prentiss," Luke continued. But Emily shook her head.

"No way, Alvez. No-one goes without a partner."

"I can go with him," Penelope said, and immediately wanted to swallow her words. What was she thinking? She wasn't a field agent. Her traitorous tongue wasn't finished, though. "The conferences were all organised by different people, so I think it's a dead end, anyway."

Prentiss cocked her head, and Luke seemed to be doing the same. What? She was still an FBI agent. Ok, Tech Analyst. The _best_ Tech Analyst. She willed herself not to blush, and squared her shoulders instead. The corner of Luke's mouth was twitching in what looked like an involuntary smile and she narrowed her eyes – was he laughing at her?

On the tablet screen, Prentiss looked to the side. "Listen, guys, I gotta go – I think Rossi found something. Fine, Garcia, go with Alvez. But if you feel anything's not right, call for back-up."

An hour later, Penelope started wishing she hadn't been so insistent on going out into the field. They'd gone to the office building first, but none of the people they needed to see had been there. Two were on leave – one medical, one on vacation. The third had already gone home, and so they were on their way to see – Penelope went through his file on her tablet again – Jonathan Koppel. Late forties, average height, average build, brown hair, brown eyes. Average, average, average, she thought. He didn't seem like a guy who was good at organizing conferences. She looked through her notes again, and read a part out loud.

"So, this guy organised the tech conference – the one the I.T. couple went to. Shoot, I'm calling them a couple. They weren't a couple."

Her tone must have been strong; she noticed Alvez taking his eyes off the road to look at her for a second. He was driving, of course. Like any guy'd let her drive one of the fancy SUVs. One day, she promised herself. She almost missed Luke's answer.

"You're kinda taking it personally, _chica."_ Even if Penelope hadn't been looking at him, she'd have heard the smile in his tone. Then she really heard what he'd said.

"Stop calling me that!"

"I'll stop when you stop calling me 'rookie', and noob," Luke answered, with another of his easy smiles.

"Ugh, you're the worst. About the case – I don't know why. Maybe it's the way the unsub makes them look bad; oh, I can't _word_ today." She chewed on her lip, and then the words burst out of her. "It's just – it's bad enough he's holding them prisoner, and making them . . . you know . . . then he makes it look like they were cheating, and then their families can't mourn . . ."

She glanced to her side and Luke was nodding, but before he could answer, they'd arrived.

Jonathan Koppel's house, in the suburbs, looked exactly like all the other houses in the neighborhood, and she wondered what they were doing there. When he answered the door, she wondered the same thing. She hadn't thought it possible, but he looked even more bland and boring in person than in his picture. Well, they were here now.

"Mr Koppel? We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you some questions about a conference you organised." As Luke rattled off the dates and the venue, Penelope was surprised by a growing sensation of unease. Something was wrong, but what?

It certainly couldn't have anything to do with Koppel, who sounded even friendlier when he spoke. "Please, come in. I'll take a look at my records – I'm so busy, I'm not sure which conference is which anymore, heh."

He walked into an inner room, which looked like a home office, and opened up a laptop. "Ugh, this is so slow," he complained, as he started it up.

Unable to resist the siren call of tech in need of upgrades, Penelope followed him into his office. Luke was still in the entrance hall – something must have caught his attention. She looked towards him, and realised he was staring at a pile of correspondence, like he was frozen, and she felt a sudden chill down her spine.

Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong. Where was the guy? She pretended to be still staring at his laptop, but any second now he was going to call her bluff. Oh God, he was the one, he was behind her, and she wasn't armed. Not really armed. She had her fingers on her smartphone in her purse, and started tapping out a sequence which she had practised so much she could do it blindfolded, which she practically was. It was her failsafe, her safety net. Ever since she'd been shot by Battle she'd planned for this, and if only it worked . . . please let it work.

What should she do now? Straighten up and pretend she hadn't noticed anything? But it was too late. From nowhere an arm slid around her neck and a gun was pressed under her chin, forcing her upright, turning her to face the door.

"Let her go." Luke appeared in the doorway, gun out and aiming at the man behind her – actually, aiming at her.

"Oh, I don't think so," Koppel hissed, pressing the gun painfully into her chin.

"I can shoot you before you pull that trigger," Luke said.

Koppel giggled, and Penelope's blood froze in her veins. "Sure you can, but you'll have to shoot through your friend, here."

She realized he was crouching behind her, using her body as a shield.

"You can shoot through her neck and blow my brains out. But then your Miss Penelope will be dead." She must have twitched. "Oh yes, I know who you are. I've been looking at your Behavioral Analysis Unit, and wondering who was going to visit."

There was a muscle jumping in Luke's jaw. When he spoke, it was through gritted teeth. "We're F.B.I. agents. No-one will believe we just disappeared. They'll tear the state apart to find us."

"Ooh, I like a challenge," Koppel said, and Penelope's heart sank. She was going to die here, because no way was Luke going to give in to this guy. There were protocols, and –

"So, if you're not going to shoot Miss Garcia, I suggest you put your gun down, nice and slow," Koppel said, interrupting her despairing thoughts.

Luke's eyes were darting from side to side, trying to aim at Koppel without hitting her, but she could tell that he couldn't. To her horror, he carefully lowered the gun to the ground at his feet, and straightened, his eyes blank.

"Kick it away," Koppel snarled, and Luke obeyed. "Turn around; put your hands behind your back."

Through all this, he hadn't removed his own gun from where it was, wedged under her chin – in fact, he pushed even harder, until Penelope couldn't even swallow.

"Now, you're going to take his handcuffs and cuff his hands together," he said, all silky smooth like he was pleased with himself. As well he should be, thought Penelope, as she did what he ordered. This was poetic justice for real. Her hands shook as she clicked the cuffs shut – they were rigid cuffs, and would probably be painful before long.

"Now, we're taking a little walk to my garage – straight ahead and to the left, yep, that's the door. Mr Alvez, if you're tempted to try anything, don't, unless you enjoy washing brains out of your hair. Not that you'll be doing much of that in the future." He gave another giggle, which chilled her more than his words. Was he decompensating, because they'd found him? Was this why he was going to risk kidnapping two FBI agents, why he'd even left something out for Luke to spot?

She went through the motions, following his orders in a daze of misery. This was her fault. If she hadn't insisted on going with Luke, he would have gone with someone armed, someone who could defend themselves. Not that she hadn't taken one or two self-defence classes, but Koppel was so fricking fast.

Before she knew it, they were in his garage, and if they'd known in advance that he owned a white van, she might have guessed that he was a freaking serial killer. She opened the door, while he stood far enough from her so that if she tried something, she wouldn't be able to reach him. He was still close enough to blow her head off.

"Get into the back and lie down on your side," Koppel ordered, his tone brusque. "Alvez first."

Luke hadn't said a word since he put his gun down, and Penelope wondered whether he was regretting not shooting Koppel through her. Once she was in the van, on her side, Koppel zip-cuffed her hands together, and wandered off.

"Where are you taking us?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, and he sniggered.

"You'll find out soon enough." He was eating it all up, her terror.

She wanted to sneer at him, tell him not to be such a walking, talking cliché, but managed to keep it inside. There was no sense in setting him off now, not when there was still hope they might get out of this alive.

Koppel climbed back into the van, and she saw, to her horror, that he was holding a syringe, which he squirted and tapped a bit, grinning at her, enjoying the effect it was having on her. Oh God, all this had been a charade – he was just going to kill them! Everything which she'd ever learned about serial killers vanished, her mind went blank, and all she could do was beg.

"No, no, please!" She wasn't ready, this wasn't right, why was this happening?

As from a great distance, she could hear Luke yelling and swearing, but Koppel just moved closer with his syringe, enjoying her terror. She cringed back, trying to move out of reach, but hit the side panel of the van, and squirmed so much that he had to hold her arm to inject her.

The world slowed down. Penelope tried to keep begging, to promise him anything, everything, if he only let them live, but her tongue stopped working. Sounds were muffled, like she was wrapped in cotton wool. Even her terror was smoothed down, until she wondered why Luke was shouting – everything was fine, and nothing hurt.

* * *

Notes

As this site doesn't allow for warnings and tags, I'll put it here: in the next chapter, the unsub is going to force Luke and Penelope to have sex. So if that's too much, maybe the story is not for you.

Not to say this has no plot. I still researched some stuff, though Reid's statistic about 'killer signatures' is completely made up. It's more based on something a character in _Henry, portrait of a serial killer_ says.

Also, this has an eventual happy ending; which means Luke and Penelope sitting in a tree, KISSING, eventually. I'm just making them suffer, first.

From the second chapter, this story will be M rated.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for the reviews, faves and follows - I can't tell you how much they mean to me!_

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 **\- 2-**

* * *

When Penelope woke up, she thought she'd been buried. It was pitch black, and she was lying on her back, with her hands at her side.

She sat up like she was spring loaded, and waved her arms around until she was satisfied that she wasn't in a coffin. One other thing she noticed – she still had her clothes on, but where were her shoes? Her contingency plan hinged on her shoes being close by – if he'd left them back at his house, they were truly screwed.

Wait a second, where was Luke? It took a few seconds before her racing heartbeat subsided, and she heard someone else breathing, close by.

"Luke?" she asked, hoping her voice wasn't trembling as badly as she was.

"Are you ok?" he asked, and she felt around her carefully.

Luke was lying on his back, next to her, and it was stupid, because they were prisoners of some crazy maniac, and they had other problems, but she blushed – they were on what felt like the same mattress.

"Are _you_ ok?" she returned, worried that he was just lying there.

"Yeah . . . I guess. I'm still cuffed, and I'm lying on my hands." Luke sounded pissed off, and she didn't blame him.

Penelope tried to see anything in the pitch black around her, but it was useless. "How did we get here? Wherever here is," she said, almost to herself. "Or did he dose you, too?"

"He gave me something, just enough so I wouldn't fight him. Fuck!" She'd never heard Luke sound that angry before.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's all my fault – you only gave up your gun 'cause I was there."

"Hey come on," he said. "It was a trap, Penelope. You were just doing your job, and he set a trap-"

"And I walked into it," she concluded bitterly.

There was a moment of silence, like he was trying to come up with some way of consoling her.

"I was worried," he said instead, and she frowned, puzzled. "I thought you weren't gonna wake up."

She had to bite her lip before she burst out with 'maybe it would've been better if I hadn't.' But what was the point of that? It was bad enough that he'd been made helpless – for a man like Luke, this must be his worst nightmare coming to life. He didn't need any additional burdens. Something he'd just said struck her, suddenly.

"Hey, how do you know it was a trap? Did you see something, back at his house?" She had a vivid flashback of Luke staring at a pile of envelopes, looking like he'd been turned to stone – had that even happened, though? Whatever Koppel dosed her with was making everything that had happened that day fuzzy, and dream-like.

"Yes, _Luke,_ what did you see?"

The voice was loud and harsh, and made her jump.

It dawned on her that Koppel was listening to everything they said, and she tried to think back if she'd mentioned her shoes. No, she didn't, she can't have given away their only hope, she told herself, sternly. The lights came on, making her jump again. Penelope was dazzled for a moment, and had to squint against the glare.

"Fuck you." Luke recovered from the shock quicker than her.

When her eyes stopped burning, she chanced a look around. They were on a big bed in an oval room with huge mirrored panels all around, like in an interrogation room. Except with a bed in it, she thought, and shuddered. Luke was lying on his back, glaring at the ceiling, his arms trapped under him.

"Straight to the point, I see, Mr Alvez. I'm sure you two know why you're here. You found all my other loving couples."

She'd been desperately trying _not_ to think about why they were there. Hearing him say it so casually made her see red.

"They weren't couples!" Penelope spat out.

"What makes you think we'll do anything you say?" Luke countered.

At that, what Penelope had thought were peepholes in the wood, under each mirror, slid open. She couldn't hold back a groan when she saw what was behind each one.

"What? What is it, Garcia?" Luke craned his neck, but he was at the wrong angle to see anything.

"Guns; gun barrels," she said, and saw him mouth a truly horrible curse, squeezing his eyes shut.

"So, here's your option – there's nowhere to hide, in this room. You either die now in a hail of gunfire, or you do what I ask. Maybe I'll even let you go, after."

Now Penelope was the one who wanted to curse – did he seriously think they'd believe him, after what they'd seen? Still, she understood now why all those others had obeyed him – she remembered how she'd felt watching him come towards her with that syringe. She'd been ready to do anything to keep breathing.

She exchanged a look with Luke, trying hard not to cry. He was mouthing something at her; it looked like, 'it'll be ok,' and she wanted to wail that no, it wasn't going to be ok.

"What, no comebacks?" Koppel's tone turned mocking. "Maybe you don't like the lighting – too harsh."

The lights dimmed, and she bit back a curse. Koppel was enjoying this, she realised. The more they protested, the more they begged, the better he liked it.

He seemed to take their silence as consent. "So, Penelope . . . it's ok to call you 'Penelope', right? You're going for a ride, _Penelope_. You're going to take your panties off and ride him like a pony."

Penelope started to shake. It was easy enough to think stuff like, sure, we'll do everything he says, play for time, but the actual doing – that was something else. She couldn't even look Luke in the face right now – how could she do this?

"Oh, but I don't think Luke likes you that way, Penelope." He just wouldn't shut up, would he, she thought, angry again. Any minute now, he'd go there. Wait for it, wait for it . . . "Maybe he likes a girl who looks less like a heifer." And yeah. Asshole.

Her eyes burned and she rubbed them, ordering herself not to cry, which was when she realised that her glasses were gone. She glared at Luke, though she wasn't sure why. She softened when she realised that he was shaking his head.

"Don't let him get to you," Luke murmured, trying to stop Koppel hearing. "It's just mind games."

"What was that, Luke?" What, did he have the whole room mic'd? "Can't get it up?"

Penelope came to a decision. They needed to play for time, and the only way they were going to do that, was by . . . her mind shied away from the word, but that was just dumb. They needed to fuck. They needed to give their team time to find them (please find us, a voice in her head wailed, please) and if the only way to do that was to do _it,_ then she would. There. She glanced at Luke's groin through her eyelashes – no, he didn't seem to be, ahem, up to it, but there were ways around that. Ways she was really, really good at.

"Ha. I'd like to see you get it up with your hands cuffed and guns aimed at you." She got off the bed and decisively pulled her underwear off, glad she hadn't chosen the Spanx that morning. The struggle to get them off would have really taken away from the dramatic gesture. "Actually, scratch that. I wouldn't."

She crawled up to Luke, who'd given her a surprised look, and then decisively went back to staring at the ceiling. She took a deep breath, and undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and pulled down his zipper. She lost her nerve for a second at a sudden horrifying thought – what if Koppel was taping this? Oh God, what if it was streaming, and their whole office was watching? No, that was dumb. He'd been very careful not to leave any evidence behind. Before she'd come along, no one had even suspected that he'd killed six people. Yeah, Garcia, she thought. How's that working out for you?

Something else occurred to her – no wonder he was so angry. All the mockery, all the sneering: that was sheer rage. He was _done,_ in Washington. He could never go back to his house in the suburbs, hidden in plain sight, luring people in, like a trapdoor spider.

She bit her lip, and looked Luke in the eyes. He nodded, and lifted his hips a bit, so she could pull his pants down. And his underwear. So. There it was. Absent-mindedly, she took the scrunchie off her wrist and tied back her hair – she always hated the way it swung in her face when she was doing this. At this point she was staring at Luke's heavy cock, and wondering if she could really do this. He's a good size, she thought, and then felt guilty.

Here you are, objectifying a colleague, she thought, and then mentally rolled her eyes. Yeah, a colleague you've had a crush on ever since he walked into your elevator. Idiot. She lowered her head, and a strand of hair she'd missed brushed his thigh, and he shivered. It looked like a good shiver, so she blew slightly on the head, and got a slight stiffening as a reward.

All she had to do was pretend she was somewhere else, that they were alone, that he wanted this. She gave the shaft a long lick, and it stiffened, really fast – she felt irrationally pleased, and annoyed at herself for being pleased, even as she pursed her lips over the crown, giving it a good suck. She heard a groan somewhere beyond her head, and swallowed him as far as she could, bobbing her head up and down a couple of times.

It was difficult to decide what was more disorienting – the smell and taste of him, or the fact that this was Alvez, the guy she'd never stopped reminding that he'd never be part of their team. If he was the vindictive type, he'd be enjoying this – the high and mighty Penelope Garcia, on her knees, mouth full of his cock.

Come on, Penelope. This isn't helping, she told herself. And he really wasn't like that – he hadn't once thrown in her face that, with all her experience in the BAU, she'd been taken in by a sadistic asshole with a grudge.

Back to work, she thought. He was certainly getting there, but she knew she needed to get him wet if she was going to ride him. She wasn't nearly wet enough yet, and she doubted Koppel was going to wait for her to get there.

She raised her head, her eyes meeting Luke's. He looked a little dazed, and when she licked up his cock from the base, without breaking eye contact, he groaned again, gasping.

Penelope got up on her knees, and carefully clambered over his legs, so that she was hovering over his crotch. She managed to line him up, and slowly, hoping she was at a good angle, bore down on him, until he was fully seated inside her, her thighs bracketing his hips. She couldn't help a full-body shiver as she tried to get used to the sensation of being stretched, inside and out – she'd never particularly liked this position; it was murder on her thighs. And fuck, either she was out of practice, or Luke was big. Or both, she thought, trying to adjust.

For a few seconds, she felt lost. She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the many mirrors in the room, and covered her eyes, wishing it was pitch dark again. What was she _doing?_ She was perched on top of Luke, feeling fully exposed, even though she was still wearing the dress she'd put on that morning, which seemed like a century ago, now. But this was crazy, she couldn't do this!

"Hey. Hey! Penelope!" It took a few seconds, but she finally looked down at Luke.

His face was flushed and his back was slightly arched because of his trapped hands. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, but also, paradoxically, like he couldn't help the pleasure he felt.

"It's ok, baby, you're doing great. Come on, _chica_."

For a second she wanted to cry. How she wished she could rewind that whole day. Then she pulled herself together, and gave Luke a watery smile, braced her hands on her own thighs, and started moving her hips. He slid in and out of her, and, despite herself, she started enjoying it. She bit her lip, not wanting any sound to escape, which was going to be a problem. Usually, she was . . . kind of loud. But she wasn't going to give Koppel the satisfaction.

Luke closed his eyes, and every time she bore down, gasped, open-mouthed. She sped up her rhythm, willing him to come, knowing that even though she was getting a familiar tingly feeling inside, it was in no way close to an actual orgasm. She wasn't getting anything out of this today. Also, she definitely wasn't going to give that asshole the idea that she was going to come on cue.

Luke managed to thrust a couple of times, and gave a stuttering groan, freezing in place for a moment, then relaxing, with a full-body shiver. She hung her head, glad she could stop. She was exhausted and out of breath – getting off him was going to be hard- _difficult_ enough. When she lifted herself off him, she could feel the wetness coming out of her and she cringed. The sound of slow clapping made her want to scream, too.

"Very nice, Miss Garcia. For that, you get a reward. If you can find it."

There was a metallic tinkle, as if a coin had been thrown into the room, and then, immediately, the lights went out. Oh, screw him, she thought, irritably. Her thigh muscles were twanging, her . . . ladyparts were aching and sore, and she was all damp and sticky. Screw him and his mind games. Then she had a horrible thought, and swooped off the mattress, on her hands and knees, feeling the floor in the dark.

"Penelope, no! What if he's put nails on the ground, or glass?" Luke sounded frantic, if out of breath.

Why's _he_ tired, she thought, unable to suppress the resentment; it wasn't like he'd actually done anything. Her fingers closed on something cold – it wasn't glass, and it wasn't sharp. In fact, it was shaped exactly like a very small key.

"Eureka!"

There was a snort of laughter from the bed, and a mumble of something in Spanish. She clambered back on, feeling her way back to Luke.

"It's rude to use a language I can't understand," she said, "especially as I just got you off."

"I've heard of seeing the positive in every situation, but you're something else, Garcia. Seems like with that surname you'd at least _try_ to learn some Spanish."

She rolled her eyes, though it was wasted on Luke, because the darkness was absolute.

"Who the hell still says 'eureka', anyway?" he continued.

"I do, mister. You're lucky it wasn't 'excelsior!'," she answered, as she felt for him in the dark. "Here, roll on your side," she said, as she pulled and pushed his shoulder.

She prayed, really prayed, that what she'd found was the key to _these_ handcuffs, that this wasn't yet another mindfuck. Her prayers were answered, it seemed, as the tiny key found the lock, and the cuffs opened with a small click.

Luke's arms fell apart, and he swore long and loud. "As soon I can feel my hands again, I'm gonna break that motherfucker in half. Jesus fuck!"

Penelope could only imagine it felt like the worst case of carpal tunnel, multiplied, and she tentatively massaged his hands and elbows, hoping it helped. The cursing subsided slightly, though there was one final _hijo de puta_ before he stopped.

"I know what _that_ means, buster, and there's not gonna be any slut-shaming on my watch."

When Luke answered, she could tell he was smiling.

"But 'motherfucker' is ok?"

"Huh. You might have a point, there."

He sat up, and made like he was getting off the bed.

"What are you doing?" Penelope hissed, terrified that Koppel was listening to them and watching their every move. He probably had night vision goggles, the sick creep.

"I need to find us a way out of here, Garcia. I can't just-" He didn't continue, but she knew exactly what he wanted to say.

Penelope narrowed her eyes. "Can't just what? Just do what it takes to survive?" To _buy time,_ she yelled inside her head; don't be such a moron! "If this is a _latino_ thing, you can keep it."

"We're not going to survive," he hissed, managing to sound exasperated, even in a whisper. "He's going to kill us whatever we do!"

How could she tell him, without saying a word? She couldn't even see his face, and he couldn't see hers. She had an idea, and grabbed his hand, putting it on her wristwatch. Ha, all those jerks who made fun of her for still wearing a watch! Please understand, Luke. Please.

He was breathing fast, in the darkness, and then it slowed down, turned into a sigh.

"Maybe if we do what he wants, he'll let us go," she said, squeezing his fingers all the while, trying desperately to transmit the thought. Time, Luke. They needed time. Forcing Koppel's hand was a bad idea.

"I guess . . . maybe," he answered, and she was impressed by his acting skills.

He really sounded tired and beaten down. Or maybe he wasn't acting. Penelope felt like grinding her teeth in frustration. She couldn't see him, couldn't gauge if he was playing along or giving up. No, she decided, he was a fricking Army Ranger once. This was nothing.

While wondering what else she could say to convince him, she was surprised by a massive yawn. What the hell, she thought. She couldn't sleep here, come on. But she was so tired.

"Why don't you lie down for a while, get some sleep?" Luke asked, and she wondered if he was reading her mind. Then she got suspicious.

"You aren't going to do anything stupid if I fall asleep, right? 'Cos if you get yourself killed I'll kick your ass!"

"No," he answered, and again, she could tell he was smiling. "I promise."

Her eyes closed as soon as she lay down, and as she drifted off, she thought she felt a hand stroking her hair. But that must have been her imagination.

* * *

Notes:

I know it seems like Garcia is blaming herself a lot, here, but that's just the guilt. I'm not blaming her, and neither is Luke.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks so much for reviewing and following the story!

* * *

– 3 –

* * *

The sudden burst of light behind her eyelids would have woken her, even if Luke hadn't been shaking her shoulder.

Penelope looked at him, blearily, suppressing a yawn. 'How long' she mouthed, and he shrugged.

"Maybe an hour," he murmured, "or two."

Penelope could have slapped herself. If she'd bought a light up watch, or maybe even some kind of smart watch, they could have checked it when the lights were out, and would have some idea of how much time was passing. But no, she'd had to go for pretty. The next one she bought was going to light up the sky like the Bat-signal. If she ever bought another one, she thought, with a shudder. She let Luke pull her up, and tried to stretch her arms discreetly.

"Awake, Penelope?" She hated the way Koppel said her name, like he was sneering as he spoke. "Sorry I couldn't let you sleep any longer, but you know - busy, busy, busy."

She said nothing. He wasn't sorry.

"Aw, don't sulk, Penelope! Luke here is going to make you feel _good."_ That sounded even worse than the way he said her name, and she shivered.

She saw Luke open his mouth to say something. He looked super-pissed off, and whatever he had to say, she was pretty sure Koppel wouldn't like it. Or would he? She still hadn't figured out the guy's game. Did he like it better when they protested and cried, or when they acted like they were enjoying it? It would have been nice if her team had actually come up with a profile, or deigned to share it with her, she thought, trying hard not to feel bitter. The difference between sadistic or delusional could mean their lives.

Before she could stop herself, she covered Luke's mouth, and he glared at her. She raised her eyebrows, and he subsided.

"Yes, Luke, be quiet," Koppel said, his voice silky-smooth. "Can't you see she wants it bad? I know it can't be easy to fuck someone who looks like that, but you want to live, right?"

She pulled her hand from Luke's mouth, her face hot and tight. Why was Koppel getting to her like this? She knew it was just a tactic – definitely sadistic, her mind added – the problem was that it was _working._

Luke grabbed her hand and squeezed it, catching her eyes and shaking his head.

"Don't let him get to you," he said. "Come on, _guapa,_ you know better than this."

She blinked away some tears which were threatening to escape the corners of her eyes, and tried to smile through trembling lips. She wasn't usually this weepy, she thought; what was wrong with her? Well, you're being held prisoner by a crazy person who's definitely going to kill you soon, a voice in her head pointed out.

"Bravo," Koppel said, snider than ever. "I would ask you to profile me, but that's not why you're here."

Luke's hand squeezed hers again, trying to transmit comfort, she thought. Or maybe receive it.

"So, what are you going to do for me today?" Koppel asked, and Penelope almost risked a glance at Luke. Had Koppel given something away, or was it more of his mind games?

"No romance, please. No hearts and flowers. Today, the lady wants it rough. So it's either that . . . or a bullet." He enunciated the last word with a certain relish.

They looked at each other, and looked away. Penelope wondered whether they should call his bluff, get him to make a move, or just go with it again? The problem with calling his bluff was that it _wasn't_ a bluff – six people were dead.

"I'm not a very patient man," Koppel said, sounding bored. "So get on with it."

Penelope bit her lip, and looked down, noticing that Luke's hands were clenched into fists. Could he go through with it? Could _she?_ The words kept repeating in her head like a mantra: they had no choice. It was out of their hands.

She came to a decision, and grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulling him towards her. He stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open, the picture of shock.

"Come on, Alvez. Show me who's boss." It's payback time, she tried to transmit through her eyes, for all those times I made you feel unwelcome.

The pain in _his_ eyes almost floored her, and she wished she could tell him she understood, that she knew he wasn't like that. But, in spite of Koppel's attempts to throw them off, she was convinced that not enough time had passed for the team to find them. They needed to get this maniac off their backs for a few hours. Did the team even know they were missing, yet? Was anyone even looking for them?

With that in mind, she slid her hand under his shirt and stroked his back, then moved forward to his chest. His eyes hardened and he gave a little nod, and seemed to psych himself up, before grabbing her shoulders and pushing her down on her back.

She landed hard. He squeezed her thigh hard enough to bruise, and she reflexively froze, before she remembered where they were, and tried to relax. Once again, even though she'd started this, going through with it was kinda scary. Especially as Luke's face was so closed off to her; he was starting to scare her a little.

Although Penelope knew it was coming, it was still a shock when Luke's hand forced itself between her legs. Again, she knew why – it would be so much easier on her if she was wet enough. It was just weird – even weirder than her impromptu blow-job. Every time she tried to relax into the sensation, the corner of her eye caught a reflective surface, and she couldn't help imagine Koppel sitting behind it, staring at them.

So, she really thought it would never happen; she'd never felt less turned on in her life. Except . . . this was _Luke_ , he of the chocolate-brown eyes and brilliant smiles (and very pretty cock, she'd found out) – getting turned on was less of a problem than she'd imagined. She caught herself in the middle of an involuntary shiver, and wanted to arch her back and spread her legs.

His fingers moved inside of her, and she moaned, helpless, until she heard his zipper going down. She'd been managing to lose herself in the sensation, but the sound brought her back to her senses, and she had to stop herself from pushing him away as he put one arm under her knee, spreading her open, before he shoved in.

That was . . . almost too rough. She couldn't hold back a small cry which was half pain, half surprise.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please . . . " Luke sounded shattered, and she knew she had to fix this, or it would be over before it began.

"That the best you can do, tough guy?" She was proud of the way her voice kept steady. "I thought you were gonna fuck me hard."

Luke blinked rapidly, and tried for a glare. "You're gonna take it all," he snarled, and she would have laughed and told him his porn dialogue sucked, except he'd started thrusting so hard, he was moving her across the mattress. She couldn't hold back a grunt every time he bottomed out inside her, balls slapping against her ass, and then he started playing with her clit.

"You're gonna be screaming my name," he spat, and she whimpered. Immediately his eyes flew to her face and she saw the truth – he was almost in tears. Shit, shit, shit, she had to fix this.

"It's ok, it's so good, don't stop," she moaned, and dug her nails into his shoulder, all the while using her inner muscles to give his cock a little squeeze too.

He gave a shocked moan, which he turned into a growl, as he grabbed both her wrists in one big hand and pinned them down above her head. Then he put his own head down and pounded into her, going for the last stretch. All she could hear was her own gasps and moans, and Luke snorting above her like a prize bull. It didn't take long before he pumped a couple of times really fast, and collapsed on top of her with a long groan.

This time, the lights didn't go out, so she could see Luke's face, as he fought for breath, hovering above her. Luke's breath was hot on her face, and she tentatively touched his cheek.

"You ok?"

"Penelope . . . how can you ask me that?" He pulled out, and she could tell he was trying to be gentle, so she did her best not to wince – even though this time, she was _really_ sore.

He levered himself off her, and rolled over to lie beside her, pulling up his pants roughly, almost in anger. "I hurt you."

"Ever hear of acting?" The tone she was going for was 'flippant'. She just wasn't sure how successful she was.

Luke sighed. She felt the mattress moving, and wondered what he was doing, but not enough to actually lift her head and look. She was so tired, everything seemed like an impossible effort.

After a long pause, he answered her. "No-one's that good."

"Jerk!" She poked where she thought his side was, and he caught her fingers.

"Ok, fine. You are the best actress." She could tell he was smiling, even as he squeezed her fingers again.

"Better believe it," she answered.

"You know, this is all very sweet, but I think our time together is over," Koppel said, his tone light, conversational.

Penelope froze, and Luke's hand tightened on hers, painfully. He sat up, then pulled her up, carefully smoothing down her skirt. His eyes were warm, and as he stroked her face, she leaned into his hand, her eyes closing.

"With my other couples, I pretended I was taking them somewhere to let them go, but you know better, right?"

His voice was nothing more than a distant murmur to her. She was still staring into Luke's eyes, and squeezing his hand.

"I'm not going to beg," she murmured, too low for Koppel to hear.

Luke shook his head. "Penelope, I . . ."

The building shook, and they both jumped.

"This is the F.B.I.! You are under arrest!" That was Emily! The team was here!

Just as Penelope was about to call out, water started rushing down from the ceiling – no, it wasn't water, she realised, horrified. It had a sharp smell, some kind of accelerant, and she saw Luke's eyes widening as he realised it too.

"Hey, we're in here! Get us out of here!" As Luke yelled, the lights went on behind the mirrors, and she could see a huge, cavernous space beyond them.

There were some dark blurs which resolved into a S.W.A.T. team rushing towards the room, asking shouted questions about a door.

"There isn't one," Luke yelled. "Just break the glass!"

He turned to shield her just in time, as one of the tactical squad smashed through the mirror. Shards were everywhere, glittering all over the floor, but Penelope didn't care as she raced towards the opening, pulling Luke and being pushed by him until she almost flew through it. He followed her, and just in time. With a whoosh, the room they'd been in burst into flames, consuming the mattress and even starting in on the wooden panelling that had been the walls.

Penelope stood in the middle of a blurry warehouse, using Luke to hold herself up. She felt like she was in a fog – yelling men were all around her, calling for fire extinguishers, asking yelling questions, and not getting any answers, whether from her or Luke.

Then a tiny blonde fury raced through the mess and confusion, and threw herself at Penelope, flinging her arms around Penelope's neck.

"Penelope!" JJ sounded like she was on the verge of tears. "Oh, thank God!"

JJ was joined by Emily in a group hug to end all group hugs, while Rossi and Reid stood by, guns lowered.

"Ow," was all that Penelope had to say, at first. "I think I stepped on broken glass," she added.

"Your shoes!" Rossi sounded amazed. "What did you do to them, Garcia? That's how we tracked you, though the signal kept cutting out."

Luke stared at her, his mouth open. "You put a tracker in your shoes?"

Penelope smiled, trying hard not to look smug. "Bluetooth connection with my phone; something else which I'm not gonna tell you guys! I managed to activate it before Koppel . . . took us."

Her face fell. Were they going to ask her about that? Could they tell what she and Luke had been doing? She gave Luke a glance, and noticed that there was blood on his arm. Must have cut himself getting through the window, she thought.

Prentiss put a hand on her arm. "Let's have the paramedics have a look at you," she said, in the gentle tone she usually reserved for victims. I guess that's what I am now, Penelope thought. Great.

She limped outside, flanked by JJ and Emily, and saw the ambulance waiting for them. She also saw Koppel, restrained, being manhandled into a waiting police car by a uniform team she'd seen before, standing in the background whenever the team had a press conference in D.C.

His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he looked at Luke and grinned.

"Don't forget the rape kit for Miss Garcia," he yelled, loud enough for everyone to hear, even against the sound of the collapsing building at their backs.

Everyone froze, the flashing blue and red lights providing the only movement. Penelope ignored the pain in her bleeding feet, the ache inside, and the feeling of exhaustion and advanced on him, feeling very much like she could kill him right now. She settled for punching him in the jaw, watching him hit his head on the car door frame with a satisfying _thunk_ sound.

"Thanks!" he crowed, grinning at her with blood on his teeth. "Police brutality! I want to make a complaint!"

The two uniform cops who were taking him to the station turned to look at Penelope and Luke, who was just then having his arm stitched up. He looked terrible. She must have looked even worse, because the face of the sergeant, an African-American woman in her fifties, hardened and she glared at Koppel.

"I didn't see anything." She nodded at Penelope, and slammed the door on Koppel's protests. "Did you see anything, Dalton?" she asked her partner.

"Nope," was the laconic answer.

Penelope rubbed her forehead. The ground felt weird – like it was moving. No, that was her, she realised, looking around to see if she could get someone's attention before she blacked out. Emily quickly came to her side, and helped her to the ambulance.

"Listen, if you want a rape kit-" Emily's voice was low and urgent, and Penelope knew she had to stop this before it went any further.

"No, no, no," she hissed. "No. We did what we had to do, and I'm not letting some OPR pencil pusher railroad Luke out of the Bureau."

Emily winced. "So Koppel didn't-"

For a fraction of a second Penelope almost hated Emily a little. Would it have been better if Koppel _had_ raped her? Then she pulled herself together.

"You know that isn't his style," she answered. And all the forensic evidence just went up in smoke. Everything except the forensics still on and in her, she thought, ordering herself not to cringe.

Emily nodded, but didn't move away, staring deeply into Penelope's eyes. "Do you need emergency contraception?" she asked, and just like that, Penelope loved her again.

"I took the shot," Penelope started, uncertain, but then thought better of it, and nodded. "But it's always better to be sure."

Emily agreed, and left to talk to the leader of the S.W.A.T. team; thankfully, before Penelope could start burbling about nuking the site from orbit. God, she was tired. At least she could sit down, while the paramedics started picking mirror shards out of her feet. She tried to catch Luke's eye, but he was staring into space, lost in thought.

Penelope was surrounded by people, but she'd never felt so alone. Just as she formulated that thought, a gentle hand on her arm caused her to look up into JJ's smiling face.

"Are you ok, honey?"

Just like that, Penelope felt her composure shatter. She shook her head, her face crumpling up in what she knew was probably the most unattractive way, and couldn't keep the sobs in any longer. JJ sat down next to her, pulling Penelope's head down to her shoulder, and stroking her hair.

"Let it all out, sweetie. It's going to be ok. You're safe now."

As she cried in JJ's arms, Penelope wondered. Yes, she was safe now. But was that enough? Now that she knew what it could be like, with Luke, would she ever be content with simply being colleagues and friends? Somehow, she didn't think so.

* * *

oOo

* * *

 **Notes** :

Don't ask me about Garcia's super-special trackers - they come from the same place her magical computer comes from on the show!

I have it on good authority (the internet) that "guapa" is Spanish for "beautiful" - as for ethnic background for Luke, I'm assuming it's the same as the actor; that is, Puerto Rican.

OPR is short for the Office of Professional Responsibility, a DOJ department dealing with disciplinary issues in, among others, the FBI.

Garcia, at the end of the chapter, is of course referring to the famous Aliens quote: " . . . nuke the site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure." I love that Garcia's a geek (she and Felicity Smoak are my favourite female tv characters right now), but I wish they wouldn't infantilize / comic relief her that much. I mean, this week she said "Jinkies!" Like, really?

This story isn't over - now that they know they're going to live, they need to find their way to each other. Maybe Prentiss can help?


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks so much for the reviews, faves and follows. Especially the reviews - I treasure them._

* * *

 _This is more of an interlude, in which Emily Prentiss gets shit done!_

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– 4 –

* * *

There were days when Emily wished she'd never accepted the offer to head the B.A.U. Hell, there were days when she regretted coming back to the Bureau. As she stared at the two interview transcripts in front of her, she wondered if this was one of them.

It had been almost a month since she'd received the most horrifying phone call of her career. She could still hear JJ's trembling voice in her head, 'They're gone, Emily! Luke and Penelope, they're not answering their phones, they're _gone!'_

That plane ride back to D.C. had been bizarre. She'd gone over contingencies, plans with David, and after every possibility, after every query, she'd lifted her head to ask Garcia what she thought, to ask Garcia to look it up. The screen had been blank.

After the third time, she'd blinked fast, trying to stop the tears. She remembered David asking her if they should phone Derek, and she instinctively shook her head. Before they knew anything, there was no point in driving him crazy too. Besides, he had a wife. Sure, and a son, but his wife would not be happy at the tendrils of the FBI reaching out for Derek, just when he'd finally freed himself. Whoa, ma'am, she could hear Penelope saying. Creepy!

Emily smiled, and then the smile fell off her face. No, that was the old, pre-Koppel Penelope. This last month, there had been an air of . . . difference around Garcia. Sometimes, when she thought no-one was looking. Emily couldn't help wondering, once again, exactly what had gone on in that creepy little mirror-lined sex-room they'd been kept in.

Her eyes fell on Penelope's interview, and she skimmed over a few exchanges. The OPR agent asked something about Penelope's phone. She gave him a non-answer, but even the reference triggered a wave of memories in Emily's head. She was transported again to Koppel's suburban home, with the standard-issue SUV parked in front of it, and police cordon around it, police cars parked haphazardly, uniforms milling about, and curious neighbours gathering.

JJ, Reid and Tara had long been in the house once she and David drove up. When they walked in, it was clear they had caught Reid mid-lecture.

". . . so, he must have lured them in – particularly p-Penelope- see, she left her purse on the chair here, and her phone is still in it. Luke stayed outside the room, maybe he saw something . . . but then he put his- his gun down – why? Why would he do that? I don't-"

"Just – everyone, listen up!" Emily knew her words came out more like a bark, than anything reassuring, but they needed to pull themselves together. If that meant she had to come across as the strict teacher, well then. She'd been called worse.

"We can't let our emotions get the better of us – we owe it to Penelope . . . and to Alvez."

The others grew visibly calmer, though it was a fragile calm, soon to be broken once they found the carefully arranged envelopes in the outer room, the ones with the fake names. It took them a few hours to piece it together, but of the three conference organizers, only Koppel was real. They'd eventually tracked down the actors he'd hired to interview for the posts, and after that, they'd only ever 'worked remotely' – Koppel was behind everything. Once he'd known he was getting another couple, this time, trained investigators, he'd left the envelopes out for either Alvez or Garcia to see. Alvez had told her about the moment when he'd recognized those names, and had realized they'd walked into a trap. He'd described it as the worst moment of his life.

Emily sighed, and leaned back in her chair. Penelope and Luke had been in that . . . that _creature's_ clutches for no more than a day, a day and a half, but she felt like the rollercoaster of emotions had aged them all a decade. Even once they'd discovered the strange software running on Garcia's phone, which none of them knew what to do with.

But then Spencer had come up with a geographical profile, pointing out that each couple had been deposited in their home state, and then someone, she couldn't remember who, had come up with the idea of using a chopper to fly in widening circles starting from Koppel's house. And then, once they'd flown a good distance away, Garcia's phone had started beeping.

Even then, it hadn't been a slam dunk, especially as the phone led them to a dumpster, where they'd found Garcia's shoes. But not the rest of her, Emily kept repeating, silently. Not the rest of her.

They reasoned that the killer's destination must have been close by, and finally arrived at a run-down industrial district, where they wasted more time, she felt, looking through long abandoned warehouses. She'd almost given up, when Spencer pointed out the last one, which had altogether too many electrical wires leading to it for it to have been abandoned.

Emily felt she'd never forget her fleeting glimpse of the killing box Koppel had constructed – the automatic weapons on stands, crouched around it, like spiders getting ready for the killing strike. The windows into the room, where she could see Penelope and Luke, standing close together. The horror as they were doused with something she immediately knew wasn't water.

The rage that went over her when she heard Koppel crowing about a rape kit was something she did not want to revisit, and it was only slightly mitigated by hearing that Penelope was trying to protect Luke by refusing it. Her eyes fell on the interview transcript again. Of course, it was procedure to interview agents who'd been victims of a crime, just as it was procedure for them to get counselling. Somehow, she didn't think that was very comforting for Penelope.

 _". . . Special Agent Garcia, perhaps you can walk us through the events one more time-"_

 _"Look, I've said it, and I'll say it again – he kidnapped us, it was my fault, Special Agent Alvez was just trying to protect me, Koppel kept us there for however long it was, our team rescued us, the end!"_

 _"Koppel has recounted, in some detail, compelling you to engage in . . . inappropriate behaviour. How do you respond to that?"_

 _"Are you taking the word of a serial killer over one of your own? I am telling you that nothing happened, except at the end, when he tried to set us on fire!"_

Emily leaned back and yawned, fighting the impulse to stretch, too. It took her a while, but she finally understood why Penelope refused absolutely to admit what Koppel had made them do. The BAU was not a popular division. Hotch had always avoided Bureau politics and bitching, and she'd followed his example. This was payback – this interview, whatever they'd said to Luke.

She'd only skimmed through Luke's transcript, and she opened it again. He'd said even less than Penelope, restricting himself to yes/no answers, and only expanding twice.

When he was asked why Koppel would have spared them, when he forced all his other victims into, as they put it, unwanted intimacy, Emily winced. She could just imagine Luke bristling at being called a victim. What she had on paper, though, seemed unemotional. If a bit hesitant. She would have put money on this being a script that Penelope had prepared for him.

 _". . . He kept insulting Special Agent Garcia . . . about her weight. Said that it should have been JJ – uh, Special Agent Jareau – with me that day. He kept taunting her, that he was going to kill her, and kidnap someone else to take her place."_

The OPR agent changed tack, almost immediately. Emily recognized the technique, though she was more used to seeing it used in interrogating an unsub, not one of their own.

 _"Perhaps you can explain why you gave up your service weapon. As you know, agency protocol clearly states-"_

 _"I know what it says!"_

 _Special Agent Alvez became agitated at this point._

 _"Koppel . . . the unsub . . . had a gun under her chin! His finger was on the trigger! He would have shot her . . . and I could not allow that to happen."_

Emily sighed again and closed the folder. One day she was going to actually finish reading the transcripts. But not this day, she decided. She'd read the report, no official disciplinary action would be taken against her agents, and she was going to be happy with that. Also, she needed to deal with Penelope, who'd been hovering outside her office all morning.

Emily waved her in. Penelope gave her a hesitant smile, and sat down. It wasn't that she looked so very different than before, just slightly toned down. Was it the experience with Koppel that had changed her, or the interview with OPR?

"How are you, Penelope?"

"Fine, just fine . . . ok, not really fine. But getting there? I guess? Not pregnant, though, so big yay! Oh dear god, that was TMI, right?"

Emily couldn't help the big smile she could feel spreading across her face. Penelope was going to be alright. Still, there was something going on with her.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Penelope shrugged, and looked to the side, biting her lip slightly. After a couple of false starts, she threw her hands in the air, and tried again.

"Oh, to hell with it. Ok, let's say I . . . Urgh, this is so hard! Let's say I have a _friend_ , right? A friend who had inappropriate feelings for a work colleague for _years_ , and after that work colleague left, and broke her heart, decided she was never going to fall that way again! Never!"

Penelope's voice almost broke on the last 'never', and Emily nodded at her, trying to show her she understood. Her thoughts about Derek were less kind, though. Maybe he hadn't been stringing Penelope along for a decade, at least not consciously. But it sure looked that way from where she was sitting. Penelope had started talking again, and Emily focused on that.

"And then she gets another impossibly handsome and unattainable colleague, except this guy might be showing a little bit of interest, and she lets herself hope that something might happen . . . and _then_ a sadistic sociopath kidnaps them and makes them do some really filthy stuff to each other . . . and now he won't even look at me! At her, I mean. My friend."

"Penelope . . . "

"Ok, fine. You have seen through my cunning disguise. It's just – getting to know someone, you want them to see you at your best, you know. Not sweaty and gross, and terrified."

Emily sighed inwardly, though she made sure that it wasn't visible on her face. Did Hotch have to deal with relationship counselling when he was Unit Chief?

"I'm sure Luke was just as scared as you," she said, feeling helpless. "Have you tried talking to him about it?"

Penelope shook her head, eyes wide, sparkly earrings bouncing around her face. "No, no, of course not. I've been avoiding h- I mean . . ."

Emily raised her eyebrows, and Penelope winced.

"So maybe the whole can't look at each other thing comes from both sides. I don't know," she said, looking defeated. "Maybe I should have taken some time off after the . . . incident."

Emily nodded, resolute, and pulled up a form on her computer. Now _this_ she could do.

"I'm signing off on a week, Penelope. Starting from now. Go home and take care of yourself. Though it would help a lot if you could just talk to Luke – if you aren't getting any counselling . . . " She gave Penelope a significant look, but she just nodded, and left.

The BAU didn't have any open cases at the moment, and if something came up, they'd just have to cope without Garcia. She should have taken time off after the kidnapping – they both should have. In fact, that was going to be her next bit of paperwork – giving Alvez the week off.

Just then, Alvez and Rossi walked into the bullpen. They'd both been out of the BAU that morning – Rossi to lecture, and Luke for firearms training. Not that he needed it – he had been assigned it as a 'punishment' for giving up his gun, Emily thought sourly. Just the kind of thing OPR thought was smart. Garcia had been given an unofficial reprimand for going out into the field unarmed.

As Emily watched, Luke got something out of his desk, and started walking towards her office. She brightened. Maybe he'd come to the same conclusion she had, and was going to take time off!

"Hey, um, Prentiss." Luke opened his mouth to say more, then just dropped the letter on her desk and turned to walk away.

Emily had a puzzled moment of thinking that it didn't _look_ like a leave request form, before she actually interpreted the words she was reading.

 _I hereby tender my resignation from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, effective immediately-_

"Special Agent Alvez!" Her voice cracked out like a whip, and Luke, who'd just reached the door of her office, jumped. "Stop right where you are!"

Luke turned around, looking sheepish, and she waved the letter at him, pointing imperiously at the office chair Penelope had recently vacated. Oh, she was getting to the bottom of this.

Once he was seated, she fixed him with her best Hotch glare. "Explain."

Luke opened his mouth, closed it, and then tried again. "I messed up. The whole Koppel thing . . . it's my fault. I almost got her- got Garcia killed."

What the hell was going on? Why was Luke taking it all on himself?

"I don't understand," Emily started. "Koppel targeted you both, so-"

"Penelope should never have been there," Luke interrupted, his voice passionate. "I didn't think he was the unsub," he went on, calmer, though pained. "I thought we'd just check this guy out, and then, after . . . I was going to . . . maybe a drink . . . "

The last words were mumbled so low, Emily only caught a word or two, but inwardly she was cheering – so he was interested in Penelope! But wait, why was he leaving? She tried to put it as diplomatically as she could.

"But Penelope's . . . fine," she said, trying to sell it. "She's alive," she said, with more conviction. "You're alive. You came up against a monster who'd gotten away with killing six people, and you survived."

That should be enough, she thought. But Luke was shaking his head.

"I hurt her. He made me . . . hurt her." His hands were shaking, and he folded his arms, deliberately looking away when she tried to meet his eyes.

Emily wanted to say all kinds of things, to keep insisting that Penelope didn't feel that way about what had happened. But she knew he wasn't going to believe it, coming from her. This was ridiculous. All they needed to do was talk to each other. And she, Emily Prentiss, was going to make it happen.

Luke jumped when the loud whirring of a paper shredder filled the room, and this time, met her eyes. So she saw exactly when the mulish look came over his face.

"I can write another," he said, unwilling to let it go.

"I _like_ shredding stupid letters," Emily countered, giving him her best stare, then she relented. "Look, you need time off. You should have taken it after the . . . kidnapping. I know you've got mandatory counselling, but what are you even telling the psychologist?"

Luke's eyes widened. "You know?"

Emily shrugged. "I know that I wouldn't trust an in-house counsellor, and Garcia is even more paranoid than I am. And she probably gave you instructions, right?"

Luke nodded, and Emily had to supress her annoyance, once more. If Penelope could talk to him for that, why couldn't they really _talk?_ Never mind, she thought. Here goes nothing.

"I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Garcia – take the week off. But you're getting an order attached." She leaned over her desk, focusing a laser stare on Luke. "Talk to Penelope. I mean it. You both need to stop acting like teenagers."

He still looked doubtful, but then he nodded. He seemed dazed as he wandered out of the BAU, giving a distracted wave to Spencer and Rossi as he went.

"What was that all about?" Rossi asked, eyebrows raised.

They might as well know . . . something, Emily thought. "He's taking some time off – Penelope too. They need to hash some things out."

Rossi grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Pay up, my friends. Called it."

JJ rolled her eyes, reaching in her back pocket, while Tara went for her purse.

"Not so fast," Spencer said, turning to Emily. "So who was it who finally decided, Luke or Penelope?"

"Neither," Emily said, brows drawn together. She should have known Rossi couldn't resist a bet. "I called it."

JJ beamed, making a beckoning gesture. "Come to mama!"

The others groaned, and started reaching for their money.

"How did you know, anyway?" Emily asked.

"Well, the millionth time Penelope called Luke 'rookie', and 'new guy' did make it kind of obvious," JJ said with a smile. Then she gave Emily a look, suggesting there were other reasons, but not ones she could bring up in front of the guys.

"Yeah, and how many times can you hear, 'that Garcia, what's up with her?' and not guess what's going on," Rossi added.

"What kind of movies does Garcia like?" Spencer said. "and 'how vegetarian is vegetarian, anyway?'" he went on. "I think he was asking the wrong person."

Emily pinched the bridge of her nose, and spoke with her eyes closed. "Now I know what high school's like. Everybody . . . get back to work." Then she looked at her watch. When had it gotten so late? "Scratch that . . . off to O'Keefe's. First round's on JJ."

JJ pretended to protest, and then smirked, lingering behind after Spencer, David and Tara left.

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Emily asked, suddenly worried. "Telling him to go after her, I mean."

"They need to talk, I know that much," JJ said, looking pensive. She gave Emily a mischievous smile. "You're a great counsellor, Miss Prentiss!"

"Oh, no. Never again," Emily groaned. "I even prefer paperwork at this point."

JJ laughed and led the way out, already on the phone to Will and her boys. Emily followed, still wondering if she'd done the right thing, if Hotch would have done the same. No, this was pointless, she decided. No more second guessing. She was going to have a drink with her team . . . with her _friends._ As for Penelope, and Luke – all she could do was give them a push to take the first step. The rest was in their hands.

* * *

oOo

* * *

 **Notes** :

If anyone's worried about Luke and Penelope not being allowed to have a relationship, because in one season they mentioned fraternization rules in the FBI, worry no more!

They totally made that up for the show, just like they change Penelope's backstory whenever it fits their plot, so I'm unmaking it. There are no obstacles to Luke and Penelope's relationship, except the ones they create. In the next chapter, no more waiting!


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks so much for all your reviews and follows!_

* * *

 **– 5 –**

* * *

After defragging all the hard drives, packing up all her old clothes for Goodwill, contemplating her old shoes before putting them back in the closet, and clearing out her old make up, Penelope wondered what to do next. Especially as she'd done all that in a day, spent the night tossing and turning, and then got up to make a list of what she was going to do on her _second_ day off.

Sure, she had her hobbies, but those were all afternoon and evening things. Besides, what with work, she'd had to drop so much. You could always offer to take Roxie for a walk, her traitor brain murmured, and she yelled 'no!', really loud. No, forget it. Roxie was attached to Luke, and Luke was attached to . . . much badness.

Really, she asked herself. Really? Yes, really, she insisted, aware that arguing with herself was the worst kind of movie cliché. What was she supposed to say, anyway? Hey Luke, remember when I gave you a blowjob and told you to fuck me hard? Yeah, let's forget about all that – I've come to take your dog for a walk. Penelope shuddered. Talk about _awkward_.

As she dragged the bag she was taking to Goodwill across the floor, some brightly coloured fabric spilled out. Penelope stopped, and pulled all of it out, frowning. Why was she getting rid of this again? It didn't look that bad. Better try it on, she thought, all the while her inner hall monitor yelled at her to leave it in the bag.

In the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and thought she might as well go all the way – bright flowery dress . . . needs full make-up.

She'd just made up her mind to keep the dress, fear of becoming a hoarder be damned, when her phone buzzed. As she stared at the screen, her eyebrows rose. It was Luke.

 _hey can i come ovr_

Penelope gnawed at her lip, and then remembered that she was wearing lipstick, and hurriedly rubbed at her teeth. Why? What did he- why?

 _I guess where r u now_

 _parked across the street_

How did he even know where she lived? What was going on? She went to her front door, feeling almost foolish, like this was a prank, or something. But when she opened it, there Luke was, across the street. He was too far away for her to read his expression, though. He gave her a little wave. She beckoned him over, and when he was close, she saw he was carrying a bag from her favourite coffee shop. Her eyes narrowed.

When Luke walked in, she could smell that special coffee smell – that was _her_ coffee, the one she ordered every day – or at least, every day she had time to stop for fancy coffees. There was another bag under his arm, too.

"I got you coffee," he said, giving her a sheepish look. "And _mallorcas,_ " he added, lifting the other paper bag.

She looked at him, brows together. "Baked & Wired doesn't make _mallorcas,_ " she said, carefully, trying to pronounce the word as well as he did, knowing she hadn't.

Luke just shrugged, mumbling something about a Puerto Rican bakery downtown, though she knew that was bullshit – she'd been looking for somewhere with good _quesitos_ for ages. He looked down at her, sheepish, and then a corner of his mouth tugged up.

"What?" she snapped, folding her arms.

He didn't stop smiling. "I forgot how short you are."

"Ugh!" Of course she was barefoot, she was at home; but she was only pretending to be offended, and she couldn't help a giggle.

"Just come in. Jerk."

She led him to her small kitchen, and got some plates out for the rolls.

"I don't have any icing sugar, though." She looked through her cupboards, but it didn't miraculously appear.

"That's ok," he said, suspiciously quickly. "I got some – I mean, the bakery gave me some."

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Uh huh."

Luke was busy cutting them in half, and putting icing sugar on top, so he didn't notice the looks she was giving him. Good thing, too. Had he really baked, for her? God, it was so annoying! He was a good cook, on top of everything else!

They sat on her couch, drinking their coffees and eating the _mallorcas,_ and Penelope swallowed her moans of ecstasy with an effort. No-one would blame her, though – these were better than sex.

A snort from her side made her look up, and a dawning suspicion caused her to cringe.

"You're either reading my mind, or I said that out loud." She looked at him from the corner of her eye, and he gave her a rueful smile.

"That bad, huh?" He must have noticed her puzzled frown, and continued. "The sex, I mean."

She rolled her eyes, and licked some icing sugar from her fingers, trying to ignore how his eyes glazed over.

"It isn't always about _you_." He didn't seem to be listening, though. His eyes were on her lips.

She took a sip of her coffee, her mouth suddenly dry. "Not that I don't appreciate the life-saving coffee and the amazing pastries, but . . ."

Luke nodded. "You want to know why I'm here. I almost talked myself out of it a couple of times, too. I just wasn't sure, after the . . . thing with Koppel. We never really talked about it. You kind of avoided me."

This time Penelope made a worse noise than before. "I avoided you? How about the other way round, newbie! You acted like it was the worst thing ever!"

His eyes bulged slightly. "Penelope, I hurt you. Don't tell me about acting, 'cause I'm not stupid. I hurt you."

The pain in his voice kept in her automatic denials, and made her hesitate to reply, choosing her words carefully when she did. She looked him deep in the eyes when she spoke, wanting no misunderstandings between them.

"Ok. Here's the truth. Yes, it hurt. We were being held against our will, forced to perform . . . there was no way I was going to get-" she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the horrible word out through gritted teeth, " _lubricated_ enough to have a really good time. That doesn't mean I hated every second, because . . . and you're free to call me a slut . . . actually, no you aren't! Don't you judge me for making the best of a terrible situation!"

She glared at him. He was smiling again. Somehow, in the middle of her rant, he'd grabbed her hand and was squeezing her fingers, stroking the palm of her hand at the same time, making her insides quiver. She bit her lip, and his eyes turned smoky.

"What was I saying again?" It was difficult to concentrate when he was so close.

"The only person I was judging was myself, Penelope." He tried to let go of her hand, but she held on. "I let you come out on a call with me because I wanted to ask you out, after. I almost got you killed."

Penelope suddenly knew what it meant to be in a dream, and she almost wanted to pinch herself to check if she was awake. Luke was looking down, and so he probably missed the sudden look of joy on her face, she thought.

"Hey. Doofus." He looked up, brows raised. "Why do you think I wanted to go with? You know I'm not a fan of field work."

His mouth fell open, and she smirked at him. The look of surprise on his face turned into a pleased smile – still, she was pretty sure he wasn't going to make any moves. To be fair, he'd come over with coffee and baked goods – whatever came next was up to her. For once, she was going for it.

Penelope kissed him, full on the lips, and immediately regretted it. What was she _doing?_ What if she'd completely misread the situation? She pulled back, only for him to bury his hand in her hair and pull her towards him again, sinking into her mouth in a way that made her want to clench her thighs together, stopping the sudden ache between them. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, she was twisted strangely to face him, and her arm was trapped between their bodies. It felt amazing, and she managed to twist and turn so that she was facing him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he moved in for another kiss, this time managing to pull her onto his lap. The hand that wasn't cradling the back of her head as he plunged into her mouth was wandering down, past her waist and gently exploring the curves of her ass. Whoa there, mister. Not that this didn't feel amazing, but she had rules.

"Rules?" Luke murmured, in between nuzzling her neck, which he'd focused on once she'd broken off the kiss.

Yes, what rules, she thought muzzily, as she tried to stop herself from rubbing against him. This was so amazing, and he was enjoying it too – she could _really_ tell – so what was she talking about? She pulled herself together.

"No sex before the third date," she intoned sternly, ignoring the happy twinkle in his eyes as he grinned at her. "Yes, I know we've had sex already! That doesn't count."

Luke went back to kissing her neck. "So, we have to date if I want you to put out?"

"Put out?" Penelope scoffed, secretly pleased at the way his grin didn't diminish. "What are you, a time traveller from the 50s?"

He laughed, this time, threading his fingers through hers. "Is walking Roxie a date? 'Cause I think we need to spend some time with her, to make up for all the time we'll be spending together. Me and you," he went on, his eyes going dark.

Penelope swallowed, tempted for a second to forget about the rules. But no, she thought. No rushing into things this time. We're going to do this right.

"Yes, of course it counts. I'd love to walk her! I missed Roxie." She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and noted that his smile was wider this time.

"Just Roxie?" he asked, grinning.

"Oh yes, just Roxie," she nodded, eyes wide, projecting an innocent look. "Who else was I supposed to miss?"

Whatever else she wanted to say dissolved in a splutter of laughter as he started tickling her, and she somehow ended up on her back, with his smiling face looking down on her. He kissed her again, and then pulled her up. She wondered, out loud, if she should change out of the dress, and then shivered as he looked her over.

"Not on my account," he answered, having had to clear his throat once or twice before getting the words out. "You just need comfortable shoes – do you own anything with less than a five-inch heel?"

"You malign me, sir," she answered, hand to heart, affecting her best wounded look. "I have many, many different types of shoes."

The next few days passed in a whirl. It was so weird – almost like Penelope had forgotten how much fun dating could be, the whole new relationship part of it. They went for walks with Roxie, they went to see a movie, they went out for drinks. She asked Luke about this great Puerto Rican bakery he'd discovered, and he sheepishly admitted he'd looked up a recipe online and practically destroyed his kitchen with several failed batches until he got the hang of it.

"How did you know I love Puerto Rican pastries?" she'd asked him, eyes wide.

They were walking back from the bar, his arm slung around her shoulder. He looked down at her, smiling.

"I kind of asked everyone at work what you like." He leaned down and murmured in her ear. "I'm pretty sure everybody knows, now."

She could feel his warm breath on her neck and shivered happily. She didn't care. Let them know.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror the next evening, blow drying her hair, Penelope couldn't help shivering in anticipation. They'd planned an outing to an expensive restaurant for what Luke had gleefully called their 'third date, baby', and she'd chosen a truly amazing dress which was going to make his eyes pop out of his head – purple, tight, and low-cut. Then, once she took it off (or he did, she thought, swallowing), her underwear would do the rest. Black satin with red-ribbon trimmings would do it for him, she hoped.

She was still wearing her favourite silk robe, not wanting to put on the dress until the last minute – putting the finishing touches to her make-up was often the time when dress-related disasters happened, she'd learned.

She'd even bought a box of condoms, she remembered, and blushed. Not that she didn't think Luke would be prepared, and she was on Depo, anyway.

Wait a second, she thought. If he wanted it (and she thought he did), and she wanted it (oh lord in heaven, she certainly did), why was she putting it off? Why had she put it off for days? They could have dinner together at literally any time. The chances of them having time off at the same time again were almost miniscule, so why was she wasting it?

Almost in a dream, she grabbed her phone and called the restaurant, cancelling their reservation, citing illness as the reason, trying to fake cough down the line.

When the doorbell rang, she'd just spent half an hour second guessing her decision, and wondering what Luke would say. She opened the door and . . . oh, lord. Luke looked amazing in a suit. Really, really amazing. What the hell was he doing with her?

"You're . . . not dressed yet?" He looked her up and down, and swallowed. "You're not dressed."

She backed away, letting him in, and started rattling off an explanation on automatic. "I just thought . . . it's the third date, and maybe we don't need to go out . . . but that was a stupid idea, if I call the restaurant maybe they'll still have our table, or maybe another table . . ."

She'd lost her nerve, she knew it, and turned away, not wanting to see his reaction.

"Stop." Luke's voice was quiet, but it still froze her in her tracks. "Turn around."

Penelope turned around, and he'd already taken off his tie, and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. She felt a sudden wave of warmth spill over her face as he shrugged off the shirt and the jacket at the same time, and carelessly threw them over a chair. He twitched the robe off her shoulders and stared at her, mouth slightly open, as her nipples hardened in reaction.

"You are amazing," he breathed, and he grabbed her face and plunged into her mouth as she swayed towards him.

He kissed her over and over, then licked and nuzzled his way down her neck, mouthing the curves of her breasts. He liberated one nipple from her bra and flicked it with his tongue until it was stiff and wet, then moved to the other one. Penelope held on to his arms for dear life, wondering what that whimpering sound was . . . oh. That was her.

Luke lifted his head and grinned at her, effortlessly unhooking her bra and slipping it off, and then spent a few seconds transfixed by her breasts.

"So, is that what you had in mind," he asked, his voice hoarse with the effort of sounding casual. She was plastered against his front, and could feel how hard he was.

"Kind of," she answered. "In a bed, though."

He laughed and kissed her again, on the mouth this time, his hand sliding down into her panties. They somehow floated towards the bed (seriously – she had no idea how they got there), and she was just wondering how to gracefully indicate that she wanted to be fucked hard, when he gently pushed her to sit on the edge, and dropped to his knees in front of her.

She certainly didn't expect _that,_ she thought, gulping. He hooked his fingers into her panties and, never breaking eye-contact, pulled them off her, spreading her legs at the same time. He was still looking into her eyes, a question in his, and she nodded, biting her lip in anticipation. He lowered his head and started licking her and she couldn't help a loud squeak as he started fingering her at the same time. He mouthed her clit and she whined as her hips moved involuntarily, and his wicked tongue delved inside her.

Luke pulled away and she lifted her head, dazed, to meet his eyes.

"Was that a good sound, before?" His eyes were sparkling with glee, and she moaned, and dropped her head again. "Or maybe you just can't _word_ today?"

She was just about to say something really sharp about his throwing her words back at her when he started using his tongue to tap her clit, and alternate that with long licks and nuzzles. She decided he was allowed to tease her, if the other thing he did with his tongue was _that,_ and whimpered instead, her legs trembling as she came.

Luke crawled up to her side and happily nuzzled her neck and breasts, which was when she noticed he still had pants on.

"How come I'm naked and you're still . . ." She waved her hand vaguely, too blissed out to come up with anything, and he laughed, getting up and stripping quickly. She covered her embarrassment (which was ridiculous, she knew that) with rummaging in her bedside table for the box of condoms.

"So, a whole box, huh?" Luke said, and she giggled.

Trying not to blush (seriously, what was wrong with her?) she gave him one, and before she knew it, Luke was hovering over her, his eyes intense. She gasped as he slid in, stretching her, and he bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"You . . . feel so good . . . " he groaned, and she tried to say something, she really did, but couldn't do more than whimper happily as he started moving, so slowly at first, then speeding up.

She couldn't do anything besides say his name, sometimes pleading, begging him to keep going, not to stop, and he didn't, his fingers slipping between them to where they were joined, playing with her clit until she found herself in the throes of another orgasm.

As she shuddered and moaned, he sped up, his hips pumping into her, his face buried in her neck as he came.

He gently pulled out, and collapsed at her side, grinning at her.

"That look! That's almost smug, newbie!" But she was already yawning, and the grin turned into a chuckle.

"And you're sleepy – again." Luke looked completely blissed out as he stroked her face and neck, and how she wished she could stay awake this time.

"I'm not sleepy, _you're_ sleepy," she grumbled, but her eyes were already closing, and she fell asleep while he stroked her hair and kissed her breasts.

It wasn't very romantic, and thank God Luke was still asleep, but she was woken up by a pressing need for the bathroom.

Looking at herself in the mirror, afterwards, she checked for beard burn – it wasn't as bad on her face as it might have been, she thought. Her make-up, on the other hand . . . She went back to bed after some major repair work, hoping she hadn't woken him, but he was already sitting up, and didn't even wait for her to get back in before he pulled her down on top of him. She could feel his cock stiff between them, and she was just about to get a condom, when she noticed the empty wrapper next to him.

His eyes were hot as he stared at her, gently weighing a breast and perking up her nipple. She immediately felt a gush between her legs, and decided she was going to be super bold, grabbing his hand, and putting it there. His eyes fluttered closed as his fingers slid inside her, and as his mouth met hers, she gasped into it.

As she eased down on his cock, she bit her lip. She was still tender from earlier, and he felt bigger than before, almost more than she could take.

"Do you have a licence to carry that thing?" she grumbled, as she tried to get comfortable.

But she was only deflecting with humour, and he knew it, she could tell. She wasn't sure she could do this, not with the bad memories getting in the way, but this time his arms were around her as he sat up, sensing what she was feeling. He slid even deeper as he pulled her hips towards him, and she moaned into his mouth as he kissed her, his tongue plunging inside her mouth.

They rode together, faster this time, and her breasts bounced as she moved on top of him.

"Touch yourself," he said, his voice gravelly. "I want to see your face when you come."

She slid her fingers through her folds, rubbing her clit as his cock pumped into her and it didn't take her long before she was wailing her pleasure, louder than before. He followed her with a groan, gasping her name.

Penelope woke up to an empty bed, but she followed the smell of coffee to her small kitchen. Luke was toasting some bread they'd bought, and had made coffee. She didn't know what was better, the smell of the food, or the fact that he was completely naked. She, of course, had found her robe and wrapped it around herself.

He gave her an almost comically disappointed look. "How come you're dressed?"

She was about to answer with some quip about not being built like a Greek statue, when he walked up to her and pushed one sleeve down to bare her shoulder, kissing it.

"God, your skin is . . . so beautiful."

Penelope shivered, and then felt a warm wave wash over her as he slipped off the robe and threw it aside. Then she decided that she was going to take control, this time.

"Come back to bed," she said, and saw his eyes light up.

"Thought you might be hungry," he answered, but she knew he'd been convinced. The way he was crowding her against the counter and sliding his fingers inside her was a clue. She giggled, and evaded his wandered hands, grabbing one to pull him back to the bedroom.

"Sooo . . . your wish is my command, Sir Luke," she said, and his brows shot up.

"That's new . . ." he answered, and then added "ow" as she poked him in the side. "Ok, ok." Then he hesitated. "You don't have to-"

"Luke! Tell me."

"Get on . . ." He cleared his throat, and she wondered what was making him so nervous. "Get on the bed. On your hands and knees."

He blushed, and she probably blushed too, because of how he turned her on. She did as he asked, shivering as she felt him get on the bed behind her. She decided to up the ante, lowering herself on her elbows, ass in the air, and she was pretty sure she heard a whimper behind her. Then it was her turn to make embarrassing sounds, as his fingers and tongue started playing with her pussy, making her wet. Wetter, she amended – just looking at him made her wet.

He stopped, and she heard the sound of crinkling plastic. He got behind her again, and slid inside her, all the way until she felt his balls slap against her ass. They groaned in unison, and she bit her lip.

"Are . . . you ok, sweetheart? Is this ok?" His hand on her back was heavy and warm, and she'd never felt better.

"Yes, yes, so good, oh," she sighed, hoping it was enough because she was really losing the power of speech right now.

He started thrusting, and she whimpered every time he bottomed out inside her, changing angle, draping himself over her back to play with her clit, lifting her hair to kiss the back of her neck.

Through her fog of pleasure, she could still hear him talking, saying all sorts of things about how beautiful she was, how good she felt. He sped up, his hips slamming against her as he came. Then, as they collapsed on the bed, with him behind her, he hooked his arm around her leg, holding her open as his fingers circled her clit, playing with it until she came.

A few hours later, they were feeding each other some ice-cream she'd bought with probably that same purpose in mind, when a strange sound penetrated her sex and ice cream haze – her ringtone. Worse, it was the work ringtone, the 'it's Prentiss and this means business' ringtone. She sighed, putting her spoon down.

"I knew a week was too good to be true," Luke said, and she nodded, as she got up to answer it.

"I'm sorry, Penelope, so sorry to interrupt your vacation." Emily started speaking as soon as Penelope answered the phone. "It's just that we have a situation, and I need you to come in."

"Ok, no problem," Penelope answered, trying to sound cheerful.

"I've been trying to contact Luke, too," Prentiss went on. "He's not answering his phone, though."

As the man in question was standing in front of her, naked as a jaybird, and waggling a silenced mobile phone at her, Penelope didn't trust herself not to giggle if she tried to answer. She contented herself with an 'uh-huh' instead. It took her a few seconds to decide, and then she handed her phone to Luke. He gave her a pleased grin.

"I'm here, Prentiss."

"Oh!" Prentiss sounded surprised at first, then smug. "Good. Just be at the BAU as soon as you can. I'll get everyone up to speed as soon as you arrive."

It didn't take them long to get ready – good thing Luke had his go bag in the boot of his car – and he even managed to phone his dogsitter to warn her he'd need her there for longer than planned.

Penelope felt strange – here she was, sitting in her work clothes, next to Luke, knowing exactly what it felt like to kiss him, and touch him, what he felt like inside her. She gave him a look through her lashes, and he happened to be looking at her at that moment. He shifted in his seat.

They had just started on the road to Quantico when her phone rang for the second time that afternoon.

"Huh. It's Prentiss again."

She sensed Luke was giving her a worried look as she answered it. But this time, she had no idea what Emily wanted – her words were cut off, scrambled.

"-lope . . . listen . . . escape . . . riot-"

The call cut off suddenly, three beeps signalling a loss of connection, and Penelope looked at her phone, puzzled. She usually never had any problems on this road, especially as all her tech was signal boosted. When Luke spoke, she wasn't really listening at first.

"Penelope . . . I need you to listen to me. Right now."

The words penetrated her worry about the strange phone call and what was wrong with her phone, and she stared at Luke. He was staring in the rear-view mirror, a frown on his face.

"Ever since we left the city, we've been followed – don't turn around!"

His voice cracked like a whip, and she jumped.

"Sorry, baby. But I don't want . . . whoever it is . . . to know that we know."

She nodded, still shocked that things had started going downhill so quickly. Was this what people felt like, when their plane fell out of the sky?

"But as long as you stay ahead of them, they can't stop us from reaching Quantico . . . can they?" Penelope was whispering, even though she knew that was ridiculous.

She risked a sideways glance at Luke. His fists were clenched on the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were bloodless.

"Look at the fuel gauge, Pen. There's something wrong."

As if on cue, the gauge started beeping. And she was pretty sure this wasn't the usual "you have two gallons left" beep. Whoever had messed with the car had left nothing up to chance. Penelope felt her eyes sting.

"It's Koppel, right? He's coming to finish us off!" She hated the weak, panicky quiver in her voice, but couldn't hold back the terror she felt.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Luke answered. "That's not important. Do you have trainers in your go bag?"

Whiplash, she thought distantly. What was he asking? She tried to focus on the question.

"Yes . . . it's on the back seat . . ." the realization came to her like an explosion. "No! I'm not . . . We're staying together!"

"Listen to me! Listen!" Luke sounded frantic. "You need to get out of range of whatever jammer he's using on your phone – you need to call the team. That's the only chance we have!"

"What if he just shoots you," she whispered, tears rolling down her face. "What if he doesn't want to play anymore?"

"He's a sadist, Penelope. We're the ones that got away. What else does he have?"

Almost in a trance, she reached into the backseat for her bag, and with a lot of twist and turns, slipped into her running shoes.

"Now, I'm gonna speed up, use the last of the gas – it's probably just fumes by now – and the second I stop, you have to jump out and run . . . run like hell into the trees." Luke stared at her, as if he was trying to memorize her face. "Can you do that, _chica?"_

Penelope nodded, not trusting her voice.

"When we were in that room, and I thought he was going to shoot us-"

The engine started making a rattling noise, interrupting Luke, who cursed, cutting short what he wanted to say.

"I love you, Penelope," he said instead, giving her a frantic look, and she mouthed it back, more terrified than she'd ever been in her life.

He turned the wheel suddenly, and the tyres shrieked as the car careened off the road to the grassy verge. The momentum kept it moving a few yards further, but that didn't last very long, until, with a knocking sound, it sputtered to a halt.

"Now, Penelope! Run!"

The door opened, Penelope sprang out, and ran. She stared at her feet, terrified of slipping on the pebbles and rocks that littered the ground, knowing that the biggest mistake she could make was look back. She reached the tree line almost immediately, terrified that she was going to hear a gunshot in the distance. But it was eerily silent, as though they were the last people on earth.

She looked back only once, when she'd actually entered the forest. The SUV had slalomed onto the verge and was stopped at an angle. From the distance, it looked like a broken toy. As she watched, Luke got out and raised his arms in the air. From her angle, she couldn't see what he saw, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to start moving again. She turned around and ran deeper into the trees, praying as she'd never prayed before, to anyone and everyone who might be listening. Just stay alive, Luke. Stay alive.

* * *

oOo

* * *

 **Notes** :

So, initially I planned for this to be the last chapter - then I had another idea!

 _Mallorcas_ are a sweet, coiled enriched bread from Puerto Rico (similar to a brioche) that is served dusted with icing sugar.  
 _Quesito_ is a cheese-filled pastry twist from Puerto Rico.

At first I was going to make it that Luke's mom taught him how to make the _mallorcas,_ but then I didn't want to bring Luke's family (or lack of it - as the show hasn't provided any backstory besides his whole thing with the Crimson King yet, I did not want to go there) into it.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks so much for the great reviews, favorites and follows! You're all amazing!_

* * *

 **– 6 –**

* * *

Penelope kept her phone on and searching for a network as she ran, conscious that any second, a protruding root, large rock, or hidden dip could send her flying. Still, she couldn't help looking at the screen every few seconds, hoping against hope for a response.

She soon had to pause and gasp for breath, cursing anyone and everyone who made her run. She looked back the way she'd come, wondering if it was far enough. Or maybe it was too far. The horror of the last few minutes crashed over her like a wave, and she had to cover her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She'd left him there! He was all alone, facing who knows what, and she'd _left_ him.

What could she have done, though? It wasn't like she was anything more than a liability, in the field. She looked at her phone again. Nothing. This was pointless. She needed to go back.

Just then, something on her screen caught her eye – she had a network! Her fingers flashed over the screen, sending her coordinates to the team. It seemed like a painfully slow process to her, but it would work. It _had_ to work. She hoped. And prayed.

Still, she had to phone someone, while she still could. But who would have their phone on them, and not on silent, even while they were working a case? She tried to work it out rationally, conscious that the time was passing. Only one person on the team had young children, and needed to be contactable at all times. She closed her eyes and begged someone, anyone, to let this work, and tapped on one of her contacts.

"Penelope, what's going on? What are these-"

"You have to stop talking and listen. Listen!" Penelope took a deep breath, and started speaking faster than she'd ever done in her life. "We got forced off the road – we, that's me and Luke – he told me to run, 'cos my phone wasn't working, but it is now, and the coordinates are where we are . . . where I am, 'cos I left him. Oh, God. I left him."

Those deep breaths had _not_ been a good idea, she thought dimly. She was starting to feel dizzy, and JJ's voice seemed to come out of a long tunnel.

"Penelope, calm down!" Easy for her to say, Penelope thought, then immediately felt guilty. JJ was just trying to help.

"Do not go back, Penelope!" That was Rossi, and Penelope realised that JJ must have put the phone on speaker. "Stay put until we get there, do you-"

David's voice cut off in mid-sentence. Penelope looked at the screen and the dreaded 'no signal' message grew to massive proportions in front of her horrified eyes. She had no signal, no network, and that could only mean one thing.

"Come out, come out, _Penelope!"_ Koppel stretched out her name, exaggerating the sing-song rhythm, and she shuddered.

When she'd realised that she could use her phone again, she'd found a place where the ground dipped, behind a tree, and she crouched down even further, wishing she could make herself invisible. Couldn't the day have been cloudy, and dull, she thought, despairingly. No, instead it was a beautiful sunny day – not a cloud in the sky. Koppel's voice rang out again, clear as a bell.

"Come out, Penelope! I promise, I won't hurt you!"

What the hell, she thought. What cliché was he going to dig up next? 'Come out and playyay'? Did he really think that was going to work on her? She'd seen the crime scene pictures!

"You left poor Luke all alone – party can't start without you!"

Dammit. That manipulative bastard. He knew exactly which buttons to push, how to make her feel guilty. Why had _he_ left Luke, though? Just as the thought came to her, there was a sudden rustle, like Koppel had turned around. She didn't dare look, though.

"What the fuck is that crazy bastard doing to him?" The muttered words caught her by surprise – because the voice sounded closer than she'd thought, and because she'd had a horrifying realisation.

Koppel was not alone. His partner, whoever it was, was torturing Luke. Even as she asked herself how Koppel knew this, the sound which had made him react before repeated itself, and this time, she heard it too. It was the sound of a man, screaming.

Penelope covered her mouth, to stop her own screams from coming out. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she nearly dropped her phone from shaking fingers.

"Come on, Penelope – can't you see that Luke needs you?" Koppel's tone had changed – from smirky to wheedling. "Didn't you have fun, last time?"

Motherfucker, she thought, turning from horrified to murderous in a fraction of a second. You fucking creep. Then she breathed in silently through her mouth, rubbed her eyes, and got up. She ignored the inner voices, sounding very much like her team, including Derek, which were yelling at her to keep down. Luke was on his own, being tortured. Her team would just have to get there in time to save them both. She carefully put her phone in her jacket pocket, and walked out of her hiding place.

Koppel was standing there, phone jammer in one hand, gun in the other. As soon as he saw her, his face split in a huge grin, and she shuddered. There was another yell from the direction of the road, and the grin dropped off his face with a suddenness that was terrifying.

"I'm starting to regret teaming up with someone who hates the BAU so much," he said, his tone conversational. "He did spring me from jail, though."

Penelope ignored him and his gun, and started walking past him, back to the car. She didn't even want to know who had Luke, though she was starting to get her suspicions.

"Aren't you an eager little slut?" Koppel said, and she'd never wanted to punch him more. "Hmm. At your size," he continued, rolling the last word on his tongue like he could taste it, "must be hard, finding someone to stretch that poor neglected pussy of yours."

Don't react, Penelope. Don't answer him. This time her inner voice was Spencer, pointing out that Koppel was just baiting her, trying to get a reaction. Silence was her best bet.

The track she was following stopped suddenly, and she stopped with it, unsure if she was going in the right direction. Koppel shoved his gun in the small of her back, hard.

"Don't give up now, Penelope," he hissed in her ear, and she felt her stomach rising in protest. "Turn left . . . they're right through those bushes."

She obeyed, conscious that she hadn't said a word yet. Was it really the right thing to do? The Spencer in her head seemed to think so, but that was really _her_ brain talking to her, not a magical manifestation of her friend. Had they ever discussed what to do in a situation like this? She wasn't sure, only remembering something Derek had told her once: never beg a sociopath for anything.

She desperately wanted to beg, though. Then she came through the bushes and into a small clearing, and she wanted to scream, instead.

Luke was tied to a tree, with his arms suspended above his head, which hung down, like he had no strength left to hold it up. His shirt hung about him in bloody tatters. In front of him was a man who'd been obviously carving into Luke's chest. At the sound of their crunching footsteps, the man turned around, and Penelope felt her heart sink. This was so not good. The worst, in fact.

Peter Lewis had a manic grin on his blood-spattered face and a bloody hunting knife in one hand.

"Well, well, well," he crowed. "Isn't this a nice surprise! Penelope Garcia, beloved technical analyst for many years. They're really going to miss _you_. I was so disappointed when all I got was the new guy," he added, gesturing to Luke, who was still hanging from his hands, semi-conscious.

Lewis walked up to her. "You know who I am, don't you? Say it!"

Say it, or don't say it? Would it make a difference? She'd always been told that the nicknames glorified serial killers, and they loved seeing themselves in print, along with horrifying tales of their exploits. But she wasn't in the papers right now. She and Luke were all alone, surrounded by chuckling sadists.

"Mr Scratch," she mumbled, hoping she was doing the right thing.

She chanced a look at Luke, needing to see a sign from him, anything to give her a clue, except Koppel was in front of him, blocking her line of sight. Her brows tightened. Koppel was inspecting Luke's chest, muttering to himself, and he didn't sound happy. Wait, so this hadn't been his plan? Could she turn them against each other?

She turned spontaneously to Luke, and rushed to him.

"You said we wouldn't get hurt!" she blurted out, only half acting. "What the hell did he do to Luke?"

Lewis sniggered behind her. "Miss Garcia is such a big girl," he said, the contempt dripping from his words. "So, I decided to make the letters extra-large."

As she got close, she saw that he'd done just that – there was a 'P', and the first stroke of an 'E' carved into Luke's chest. She couldn't hold back a sob and covered her mouth, wanting to hug him, but knowing that she would just hurt him more. He lifted his head, apparently registering her presence for the first time, and his eyes widened in horror.

"Penelope, no! Why did you come back?"

She got closer to him and cradled his cheek in one hand. "I couldn't leave you," she whispered.

Luke was distracted by sudden arguing behind her, and his brow furrowed as he seemed to be trying to make sense of what was happening. She wasn't paying attention to that, but to him. His hands flexed in the makeshift leather cuffs Lewis had nailed to the tree.

"Come closer, baby," he muttered, and she did, until she felt his quick breaths on her ear. "I have an ankle piece, inside left," he said, and it took her a few heartbeats to understand what he meant.

She blinked at him, and was just forming the words to say that he couldn't use it, when she finally understood. _She_ would have to be the one to get them out of this. He was biting his lower lip and staring at her with a laser-like focus, trying to see if she understood. She nodded, slightly, and looked behind her carefully, wondering if they were being watched. Lewis and Koppel weren't paying any attention to her, though. They'd already written her off, she thought.

"What the hell are you playing at, you sick fuck? I told you I needed them both!"

Koppel sounded enraged, like a toddler who'd been deprived of his favourite toys. Penelope dropped down to a crouch, hoping no-one was looking at her, wondering if she could pass it off as a faint if they spotted her.

"Do you think I give a shit about your live-action porno fantasies?" Lewis answered, his voice a contemptuous drawl. "Just fuck your little fat girl if you want it so bad, and then I'll take her after. Or maybe you can't get it up; is that what all this is about?"

Penelope acted fast, flipping the snap on the ankle holster, and pulling the gun out. It was a small gun, but still looked deadly, and she wondered why Luke hadn't tried to use it already. Though he couldn't get to it tied to a tree. She made sure the safety was off and held the gun using both hands, close to her chest, where it wouldn't be seen. How was she going to shoot two people? Not that she had any moral qualms – they were horrible men, and every new word out of their mouths reinforced that fact. But they were experienced at killing, and not getting killed themselves.

Behind her, the argument was reaching new levels. She hadn't heard Koppel's answer to Lewis's contemptuous question, but Lewis wasn't finished.

"Maybe it's the men you want to fuck, then."

Penelope snuck a look around, and Lewis's eyes were sparkling with glee. "It's ok, you know."

But it wasn't ok for Koppel, she realised. He gave a shout of incoherent rage and rushed at Lewis, who was completely taken by surprise. They slammed into each other, and Lewis pushed him back with contemptuous ease.

"Calm down, you moron . . . " But Lewis's voice sounded different, Penelope thought. He looked slightly puzzled, and took a deep breath, opening his mouth to say something, and then closing it again.

Lewis looked down, trying to figure out what was different, and Penelope followed his gaze, and gasped. His own knife was sticking out of his chest. She looked back up, and caught the moment when his eyes widened almost comically, bulging a little, his mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water.

"What . . . no, this can't happen . . . this is wrong . . . "

Penelope spotted Koppel, standing to one side, arms folded, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. He then strolled up to Lewis, and, looking him in the eyes, deliberately pulled the knife out. It was followed by a gush of blood, and Peter Lewis collapsed to the ground. Penelope could hear his rattling breaths, the gurgling sounds as he fought for air.

"You have to be ready now, Pen." Luke's voice was thready and breathless. "It'll be soon."

She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on Koppel, who'd crouched down next to Lewis's head, studying the dying man with a look she imagined was usually aimed at a petri dish.

She had to be ready. Any minute now, Koppel was going to turn to them. Even though it seemed to her that hours had passed in that clearing, it hadn't been that long – not long enough for their team to find them, at any rate.

Peter Lewis took one last rattling breath, his chest rose and fell for one last time, and then he . . . stopped.

Koppel rose out of the crouch, dusting his knees with exaggerated care. "So much for the great Mr Scratch," he said, a moue of distaste on his lips. He turned to Luke, and Penelope hurriedly put herself between them.

She was holding the gun with both hands, close to her chest, just like Derek had taught her. He'd also taught her when to shoot and when not to, so she didn't react when Koppel spotted the gun and gave her an amused smile.

"Oh, honey. Do you really think you're going to use that on me?" He started approaching her and she waited.

He nodded, as if she'd agreed with him, and continued talking, but she ignored him. She waited. There was a reason for this, and she wasn't going to think about it before she had to do it. She just focused on keeping the gun close to her chest where he couldn't grab it.

Koppel was still saying words. She couldn't hear them any longer, through the rushing noise in her head – was it her heartbeat? She didn't know. All she knew was that he was close enough – she had to do it. Now.

She started shooting, and, for a small gun, it was really loud. Derek had taught her to empty the clip, and that's what she did, firing and firing and firing until the gun just made a clicking noise, and Koppel was lying on the forest floor at her feet, his chest a bloody mess.

She'd been deafened by the gun. That was the only possible explanation. She couldn't hear anything except her sobbing gasps for air, and a faint ringing in her ears. She finally realised that Luke was saying her name – had been for a while, she guessed. She ran towards him, wanting to hug him, but afraid to hurt him even more, or cause his cuts to get infected.

"Penelope, are you ok?" He looked so worried, for her, when he was hanging from a fricking tree! Oh, she was definitely getting him down from there.

"I'm fine! I can't believe you – you're cut to ribbons and you're worrying about me!" Penelope rubbed the tears from her eyes, and concentrated on unbuckling the leather wrist straps.

"I didn't know how much firepower they had, that's why I didn't use the gun myself."

Penelope nodded, though she was still puzzled. "What about your service weapon, though?"

"That was in the back – I really messed up, Penelope."

"No, you didn't! They ambushed us, ok? We couldn't have expected it! Which is what we're gonna tell OPR, do you hear?"

She finally managed to get the buckles open, and Luke's arms fell down, nerveless. He moaned, and she bit her lip in sympathy.

But when he spoke, he didn't mention the pain in his arms or his chest. "OPR. Great. Explaining the ankle gun is gonna be a laugh riot."

Of course, she thought. Keeping a spare gun was _not_ regulation. Her face tightened.

"What ankle gun?" she asked, fiercely. No-one was going to hurt Luke ever again, no-one. "This is mine," she continued, waving the small pistol around. "I had it in my pocket? No, my _purse_ , yeah. That's where it was."

Luke gave her a half-sceptical, half-admiring smile. "Proof of purchase is in my name," he answered, raising an eyebrow.

"It was a gift, from you," she hissed, and his smile widened.

"So, we're at the gun-buying stage of our relationship?" he asked, still smiling, and then winced.

Her eyes dropped to his chest. She wondered how deep the cuts were and fretted – when was the cavalry riding in? Or driving. Flying, even.

"I shouldn't have left you," she blurted out, before she even knew the thought was in her head. She met his eyes. They were incredulous.

"Are you serious?" It was the first time she'd seen Luke angry, except for the _other_ time they'd been prisoners of a crazy man. "D'you think it would have been better if he was cutting into _you?"_ He must have gotten the feeling back in his arms, because he trailed his fingers along her cheek. "I would have lost my mind."

Penelope tried to smile, her eyes filling with tears, and decided to kiss his fingers, instead. "I'm gonna make it up to you – I mean – I don't mean _like that_ \- or maybe I _do_ mean like that – stop laughing at me!"

"I'm trying, believe me . . . hurts like a bitch." He sagged back against the tree, the pain lines deepening in his face. Then he brightened. "Does that mean I get to practise _my_ fingering technique?"

Penelope felt like the sun had come out from behind a cloud. "Oh, _you_." She wanted to answer with something equally naughty, to take his mind off the pain. Maybe even mention her own, um, _mouthing_ skills. Whatever she had planned to say was lost, though, when the distant droning sound turned out to be a helicopter, circling their clearing.

Penelope waved until her arms ached, until she was sure that they'd been seen, that the helicopter was flying to the road, where it could land. She walked back to Luke, who'd slid down to sit on the ground, his back to the tree, and sat down next to him, squeezing his hand. They were alive, and they were together. It was enough, for now. For later, she had _plans_.

* * *

oOo

* * *

 **Notes** :

The "Come out and play" thing is a reference to the movie Warriors (Walter Hill, 1979), which has now become a meme (hasn't everything?).

So, there's just one chapter left, which is more of an epilogue.


	7. Chapter 7

_So, this is the epilogue I promised, much too long ago!_

 _Thanks again to everyone who left reviews and favorited and followed! You're all awesome!_

* * *

 **– 7 –**

* * *

He opened his front door and frowned – usually just turning the key meant he'd hear excited panting as Roxie prepared to rush him. But the apartment was silent.

Where was everybody? Not that Luke had expected a surprise party, complete with balloons, but he'd given Penelope a key, and surely Roxie missed him. The only reason Penelope hadn't picked him up from the hospital was that she needed to go into work to set up some stuff, so she could spend some time with him, after. And he was on mandatory sick leave.

There was a banner, though, and his lips curled in a smile.

 _WELCOME HOME LUKE!_

It was glittery, and it was colourful and he didn't want to know how Penelope had got it up there. There were streamers dangling off it, and as he lifted his arm to touch one, the sutures on his chest pulled and tingled. He winced, fighting the urge to scratch them.

He'd been lectured, over and over, of the importance of the special bandages to prevent scarring as much as possible. He felt like retorting that it was _his_ chest, and maybe he liked having Penelope's initial on it. But the destroyed look in Penelope's eyes every time the subject came up put him off joking about it.

Luke sighed, wondering where she was. Just as he was about to send her a text, he spotted a post-it note on the kitchen counter, and had to smile, again. There were actually two notes – she'd run out of space on the first one, had added a second, and her name was kind of trailing off the paper.

 _Dear Luke, you better not come home early! But if you do, here's a note. I have to take Roxie for a walk, she's getting antsy, she misses you. Love Penelope. xoxo (those are hugs and kisses, BTW. Noob :)_

This time, the smile became a grin. Oh, he had it bad. He wanted nothing more than to drag her off to bed and show her that he knew _all_ about hugs and kisses, and much more besides. If only she hadn't been there when the doctor had told him not to exert himself during sex. Well, they'd see about that. There were plenty of positions which didn't need him to be up on his elbows, and they were going to try them all.

But first, he needed to fix something for Roxie – she'd be hungry when they came back.

Luke had just finished chopping everything up, when he heard his front door open, and within seconds had to fend off a very happy dog who was intent on washing his face.

"Good girl! Who's my good girl? Yes, you are!" He knew he sounded like an idiot, but Roxie's happiness was infectious.

"I thought I was your good girl," Penelope murmured, as she put some bags on the kitchen counter.

He got up from the crouch, and moved over to her, trying not to trip over Roxie, who was undulating around him, tail wagging. He grabbed Penelope, making her squeak as he squeezed her ass. "You're my best girl," he whispered in her ear, "but I don't want to make Roxie jealous."

Penelope giggled, and he couldn't resist her shiny mouth, descending on her with a deep kiss. She responded, pulling him closer, but then moved away.

"I got us some Indian food – thought you'd be hungry."

"Mmm," he answered, moving in again, nuzzling her neck, and dropping little kisses on the slopes of her boobs. The thought struck him, as he lifted his head and stared into her eyes: she was beautiful and she was all his.

"Very hungry," he growled, trying to sound seductive, pulling her against him so that she could feel what he was hungry for.

Penelope squeaked. "So, you _are_ happy to see me, 'cos I know that isn't a gun in your pocket- mmph . . ."

Luke manoeuvred her to his bedroom, sparing a quick glance to make sure that Roxie was busy eating – he loved his girl, but he didn't want any interruptions. Except Penelope dug her heels in – literally.

"Oh, no you didn't!" she said, and he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. She'd added a head swivel and a finger shake too. "The doctor said no exertion!"

His face must have fallen because she burst out laughing.

"Baby, I'm fine! Really! I missed you," he said, kissing her neck, and nuzzling behind her ear, where she was really sensitive. She'd told him she couldn't resist that.

"Now you're cheating," she moaned, and then pulled away, giving him a stern look. "Don't try that, mister! It won't work. Now, sit down. I have a better idea."

They'd arrived in his bedroom, and he sat on the bed, wondering what she was up to. He didn't have to wonder long, as she got on her knees in front of him, and he was struck speechless. She reached for his waistband and had gotten his pants open before he managed to squeeze a few words out.

"I thought you didn't like to do . . . that," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Whatever gave you that impression?" she asked, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes. She took off her glasses and he couldn't help himself – he just had to touch her cheek, passing his thumb over her lips. She sucked his thumb in, licking it quickly, and he whimpered, his cock hard as a rock.

She unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out, and licked up the shaft as he groaned. He was sure he was going to embarrass himself – it hadn't been that long, but it felt like years since he'd been inside her, and now she was here making him feel like heaven. He looked down, almost unable to believe he was losing himself in her warm, wet mouth as she sucked, her cheeks hollowing out, her head bobbing up and down.

Luke couldn't help remembering the last time she'd done this, stuck in that horrible room – almost as though she was reading his thoughts, she lifted her head, teasing the crown with her tongue. She cocked her head to the side and smirked.

"No bad thoughts, now! This is an exorcism – actually, it's a blowjob, but you knew that."

He couldn't help a snort of laughter, and stroked her hair.

"I never got to do that, last time," he said, enjoying the blond strands slipping through his fingers.

"Uh huh." She gave him a sultry look through her lashes, and his cock twitched.

"Someone's feeling neglected," she added with a smirk, licking her way up the shaft again, pursing her lips over the crown, then taking him all the way in. He gave a high, desperate whine as she started bobbing her head up and down again, and his balls tightened. He was so close, so close, he had to warn her, she couldn't want to-

"Baby I can't hold- I . . . " It was nonsense, for sure, but she seemed to understand him.

Instead of pulling off, she just sucked harder, her fingers digging into his thighs, and that was it. His vision whited out as he came, his hips jerking involuntarily. His groans seemed to ring round the room. When he could see again, he looked down and watched her give his cock a little kiss, tucking it back into his underwear. She gave him a smug little smile, and he pulled her up, plunging into her mouth, tasting himself there.

"You're not supposed to strain yourself," she said, once she managed to pull away.

"You could always sit on my face," he said impulsively, and her face fell, and she got up.

"I better . . . put the food on plates," she muttered. Before he knew it, she was gone.

Luke was still tingling from the orgasm, and it took him a few seconds of dazed wondering what he'd said wrong, before he realised. Someone had _really_ done a number on her, he thought – one day he was going to meet the guy, or guys, and punch them in the face. A lot.

When Luke got to the kitchen, Roxie was already curled up in her basket, dozing, though she opened an eye when he came in, then closed it again, satisfied that he was still here. Penelope was standing at the sink, drinking some water, her back to him. He came up behind her, wrapping both arms around her waist, and nuzzled her neck.

"One day you're gonna believe me when I tell you that every inch of you is beautiful," he said, and he could feel her relax slightly in his arms.

"It's just . . . I'm not there yet – you know, with the face-sitting, and all." Penelope waved her hands around, and he felt like asking if that was interpretive dance – he just wanted to eat her pussy. But he wasn't going for humour, yet. Maybe later.

He lifted her skirt and slipped his fingers in her panties instead, happy to note that she was already wet. She whimpered as he spread her folds and slid inside, crooking his fingers slightly.

"You're very naughty, sir," she whispered, and he brought his other hand to pinch her nipples.

"You have no idea, ma'am," he said. It was far too soon for him to get hard again, but he had other things in mind for now. "Now, you're coming back to bed, and I'm gonna eat you out till you scream, how about that?"

"Oh really?" She turned around, flushed, her eyes sparkling. "What if your neighbours call the cops?"

"Maybe I'll have to gag you then," he answered, raising an eyebrow. "Actually, you don't need to move at all," he said thoughtfully, and dropped to his knees in front of her.

"Luke!" she gasped.

He looked up at her. "Hold on to something, sweetheart." He lifted her skirt, and had to smile – these were the same black panties she'd worn the first time they had sex. He smirked up at her, and she blushed again. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, he pulled them down her legs, tapping one foot, then another, so he could slide them off.

"I think I'll be keeping these," he said, and she whimpered, then squeaked, as he pressed a kiss into her thigh. He turned it into a nuzzle and a bite, and then finally got a good look at her sweet pussy. He tongued her clit, lapping at her folds until she was so wet, he could feel it dripping down his chin. He couldn't get enough of her.

"Oh, oh, oh, Luke!"

He fucked her with his fingers, roughly, as he slurped on her clit, and before he knew it, her inner muscles were clenching around his fingers. She whimpered and shuddered as he came, but he didn't stop, knowing that she was good for more. He started licking again, nibbling at her folds, pushing his tongue inside her, as his fingers explored her ass, and slipped in between her cheeks.

He looked up at her, and she met his eyes, dazed. She nodded, and he started tapping at her tight little hole, using her fluids to make it slippery, pressing inside just a little, while he tongued her clit again. She was babbling now, nonsense about how he was a god, so amazing, she couldn't take it, she was coming again. The stream of words and noises cut off as her muscles started clenching and her thighs shook – he looked up to see she was biting on her fist to stop from screaming. Oh, _yeah_. Still got it, he thought.

"Smug!" she gasped. "You are so smug!" Her thighs were still trembling from the aftershock, and he got up to steady her.

Luke had a thought. "Hey, I hope that was ok, with the ass stuff," he asked.

She blushed. "I wasn't sure at first," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Never done that before. But I really liked it."

He grinned. She was amazing! And he was good to go, now. He grabbed her hand and dragged her off to the bedroom. She tripped along after him, giggling.

He took off his shirt and pants, and underwear, throwing himself on the bed. He'd hesitated over the shirt at first, but she seemed to be ignoring the dressing, just gave his chest a speculative look as she slipped her dress over her head. His mouth watered when she took her bra off and her heavy boobs bounced free, nipples peaked. She smirked, and crawled onto the bed, just out of reach.

"See something you like?"

Luke nodded fervently, and was just about to make a lunge, when she gave him a mock scowl.

"You better not be calling them tits, in your head, mister! Or even worse . . . titties," she added, with a visible shudder.

"Nope, no, no ma'am!" he answered, lying through his teeth, trying to sound innocent.

She narrowed her eyes, then stroked his chest. "Have I ever told you how much I love that they shaved your chest," she said as she slid her fingers up and down. "So smooth . . . "

"You better enjoy it while you can, 'cos . . . aah . . ." Penelope had been dropping kisses all over, and then she tongued his nipple. He'd never realised that he was sensitive there.

He opened a drawer blindly, looking for condoms, and she put her hand over his.

"Uh, you know I'm on Depo, right?" she asked, and he nodded. She smiled, clambering over his legs, grabbing his cock, and sliding down on him, all the way.

He gasped, and had to grit his teeth to focus on not coming. He'd taken the edge off, but she was so wet and hot and slippery, clenched around him. "Kinda messy," he whined, and she giggled, her breasts bouncing.

"Sometimes I like messy," she said, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. She made him feel like he was seventeen again, hair-trigger.

She started riding him, bouncing up and down, and he pulled himself up towards her so he could play with her ti- her boobs as she rode, bottoming out on the downstroke. The room was filled with wet sounds and their gasps and groans, and she slipped a hand down between them to play with her clit, sighing happily. He sagged back, staring at where they were joined, licking his lips, still tasting her from before, and had to groan. She clenched around him, suddenly, whimpering and the pressure was unbearable as he thrust up, pumping into her as he came and came.

He opened his eyes and stared at her in awe, her body gleaming with sweat, her head tossed back, eyes closed, chest heaving. He helped her get off him, and she collapsed by his side, already yawning. Then she opened her eyes wide, and glared at him.

"It's the middle of the afternoon, ok? I'm _not_ falling asleep, d'you hear?"

"Mmm-hmm," he answered, and kissed her breasts, one kiss on each. "Maybe I can keep you awake," he added, and tongued her nipples.

"I'm beginning to think that's all you like about me," she complained, and he grinned up at her exasperated face.

"Oh, no, plenty of other things," he said, sliding his fingers inside her again. He could eat her out all day long, he thought, as he prepared to settle between her thighs. But this time she pulled him up.

"No, come here," she said, and kissed him, her tongue curling into his mouth until he responded, though he didn't stop what he was doing with his fingers.

They kissed for hours, it felt like, long leisurely kisses, until their lips tingled and they were short of breath.

The buzzing sound of a muted mobile phone dragged Luke out of a dream where he was looking for Penelope in a forest – he could hear her crying, but every time he tried to run, his feet didn't work. He woke up with a gasp, but she was right next to him, lying on his arm, snuggled into his shoulder. The dream lingered for a couple of seconds, but then faded away. What they'd been through would stay with them for a while, he thought, but they'd get over it.

The phone started buzzing again, and he gave it an irritated glance – it was Penelope's, of course. Before he could get to it, and tell whoever it was to fuck off, Penelope opened her eyes.

"Is that my phone?"

He nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and just raised an eyebrow.

"So," she said, lengthening the word, "I guess they can cope on their own for a while?"

"Yes. They can."

The corners of her mouth quirked up in a smile, and she trailed her fingers over his chest. "Oooh. So masterful." She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and he felt himself responding. "What will you do if I answer it?"

"I'll have to spank you," he said, sliding his knee between her thighs, rubbing against her core, grabbing a handful of her ass.

She licked her lips, biting her lower lip, and gave him a wicked look. "What if I like that?"

Luke couldn't resist any longer and pounced on her swollen mouth, driving his tongue inside, and was rewarded with a happy whimper and her fingernails digging into _his_ ass. The phone started buzzing again, but he only heard it as from a distance, as he lost himself in her, happier than he'd ever been. He wanted to tell her again that he loved her, that he was crazy for her, but he was pretty sure she already knew that. Still, he pulled back, looking her in the eyes.

"You know that I love you, right?" Maybe he should have bought a ring, or maybe it was too early for that. Still, he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman.

Penelope nodded, her eyes shiny. "I love you too, Luke." She sniffed, and rubbed at her eyes, hurriedly. "So, are you gonna say I had you at hello, or what? 'Cos it took me a bit longer."

"Actually, you had me at 'fingering techniques', chica," he answered, smirking, enjoying her gasp. "What d'ya know, Penelope Garcia speechless!"

"You, you," Penelope spluttered, trying to poke him.

Luke laughed, grabbing her hands, and kissed her. He didn't care about tomorrow, or the next day, or the one after that. This was perfection, right there, and that was all he needed.

* * *

oOo

* * *

 **Notes** :

Hope everyone likes the sexy epilogue, from Luke's point of view this time! So, this is the end - I don't know if I have any other Criminal Minds stories in me, though Penelope and Luke are very inspiring. We'll see!


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